'AN 


H.A.CODY 


" 


IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 
H.  A.  CODY 


0F_  CALIF.  LUtKAKY.  LOS 


IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

BY 

H.  A.  CODY 


AUTHOR  OF 

THE  CHIEF  OF  THE  RANGES,  THE  LONG 

PATROL,  UNDER   SEALED  ORDERS, 

THE  FRONTIERSMAN,  ETC. 


^N 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1915, 
BT  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPAJO: 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


2126513 


CONTENTS 

&PTEB  PAGE 

I.  CHORDS  OP  MEMORY    ...*..  9 

II.     THE  VERGE  OF  TREMBLING 17 

III.  A  WILDERNESS  WAIF  ......  23 

IV.  BY  THE  MIRRORING  LAKE    .        .        ^       .       .  33 
V.     A  CABIN  FOR  Two 41 

VI.     'Tis  HARD  TO  FORGET 49 

VII.     THE  CEASELESS  THROB 61 

VIII.     THE  DISCOVERY 70 

IX.     THE  GOLDEN  LUBE 77 

X.     THE  AWAKENING 84 

XI.    UNFOLDING 92 

XII.     THE  EDGE  OF  EVENTS 100 

XIII.  THE  LAP  OF  TO-MORROW 110 

XIV.  THE  SUPPLANTER 122 

XV.     SUSPICION 135 

XVI.     TOM  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY 144 

XVII.    HEART  THRUSTS 153 

XVIII.     THE  EOYAL  BOUNTY 162 

XIX.  BEGINNINGS                                          .       .        .  172 


8  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XX.  UNDER  COVER  OF  NIGHT                      -.       •„  183 

XXI.  THE  WAY  OF  A  WOMAN      .....  194 

XXII.  HEART  SEARCHINGS      ...,,.  206 

XXIII.  THE  MEETING 216 

XXIV.  WITHIN  THE  LITTLE  ROOM  .,        ...  227 
XXV.  THE  KIVER  FLOWS  BETWEEN      ....  237 

XXVI.    THE  FACE  AT  THE  DOOR 245 

XXVII.     THE  INNER  IMPULSE 255 

XXVIII.     THE  KEEPSAKE 265 

XXIX.    ATONEMENT .273 

XXX.    REVELATION i       I       •  286 

XXXI.  "THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS"     .        .        .  294 

XXXII.  REFINED  GOLD      .......  300 


IF   ANY   MAN   SIN 


CHAPTER   I 

CHORDS  OF  MEMORY 

IT  was  Sunday  night  and  the  great  city  was  hushed  in 
silence.  A  thick  mist  hung  over  streets  and  houses 
through  which  numerous  lights  endeavoured  to  force 
their  rays.  Few  people  were  astir  and  all  traffic  had 
ceased.  Presently  the  chimes  from  a  hidden  church 
tower  pealed  forth  their  sweet  message  to  the  world. 
A  man  standing  alone  within  the  shadow  of  the  church 
started  and  turned  his  face  upwards.  The  musical 
sounds  seemed  to  fascinate  him,  and  he  listened  as  one 
entranced.  He  gave  no  heed  to  the  men  and  women 
hurrying  by  phantom-like  on  their  way  to  the  evening 
service.  Not  until  the  last  note  had  died  upon  the  air 
did  the  man  abandon  his  listening  attitude.  Then  his 
head  drooped,  his  tense  body  relaxed,  and  he  stepped 
back  a  few  paces  as  if  fearful  of  being  observed.  Twice 
he  started  forward,  moved  by  some  inner  impulse,  but 
each  time  he  shrank  back  deeper  within  the  shadow.  His 
strong  form  trembled  convulsively,  telling  plainly  of  a 
mighty  fire  of  emotion  raging  within. 

The  man  at  length  left  his  place  of  concealment  and 
paced  rapidly  up  and  down  outside  the  church,  with  his 

9 


10  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

head  bent  forward.  This  he  did  for  some  time.  He  at 
last  paused,  stood  for  a  while  in  an  undecided  manner, 
and  then  with  a  stealthy  step  approached  the  door. 
His  hand  was  raised  to  the  large  iron  latch  when 
strains  of  music  fell  upon  his  ears.  Then  he  heard 
the  sound  of  numerous  voices  lifted  up  in  the  closing 
hymn.  His  courage  almost  deserted  him,  and  he  half 
turned  as  if  to  leave  the  place.  But  some  irresistible 
power  seemed  to  stay  his  steps  and  force  him  to  open 
the  door  and  enter. 

The  church  was  warm,  brightly  lighted,  and  well  filled 
with  men  and  women.  No  one  heeded  the  stranger  as  he 
slipped  quietly  into  a  back  seat  and  looked  around.  The 
trained  voices  of  the  W7hite-robed  choir  thrilled  his  soul. 
Every  word  of  the  hymn  was  familiar  to  him,  for  he 
had  often  sung  it  in  days  gone  by.  The  congregation, 
too,  was  singing,  and  ere  long  he  distinguished  one  voice 
from  the  rest.  He  had  not  heard  it  at  first,  but  now  it 
fell  upon  his  ears  with  a  startling  intensity.  It  was  a 
woman's  voice,  sweet,  clear,  and  full  of  mingled  tender- 
ness and  pathos.  The  man's  firm  white  hands  clutched 
hard  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front  of  him,  and  his  face 
underwent  a  marvellous  transformation.  His  eyes  shone 
with  eagerness,  and  his  bosom  lifted  and  fell  from  the 
vehemence  of  his  emotion.  He  leaned  forward  until  he 
could  see  the  singer  and  watched  her  intently.  Then 
when  the  hymn  was  finished,  and  ere  the  congregation 
dispersed,  the  stranger,  having  cast  one  more  longing 
look  upon  the  woman  with  the  sweet  voice,  slipped  noise- 
lessly out  of  the  building. 

Upon  reaching  the  street  he  stepped  aside  and  waited 
for  the  people  to  come  forth.  It  was  not  long  ere  the 


CHORDS  OF  MEMORY  11 

big  door  was  thrown  wide  open,  and  as  the  men  and 
women  passed  by  he  scrutinised  them  as  closely  as  pos- 
sible. He  was  watching  for  one  person  alone,  and  pres- 
ently he  saw  her  walking  by  herself.  When  she  had 
gone  a  short  distance  he  followed  after,  and  never  once 
let  her  out  of  his  sight  until  she  came  to  a  large  house, 
the  door  of  which  she  opened  and  entered. 

For  some  time  the  man  stood  outside,  keeping  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  building.  A  policeman  passing  by  noted 
the  man,  and,  mistaking  him  for  a  vagrant,  ordered  him 
away.  The  stranger's  pale  face  flushed,  and  his  hands 
clenched  as  he  obeyed  the  command.  Slowly  he  walked 
along  the  street  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  pavement. 
At  length  he  paused,  retraced  his  steps,  and  stood  once 
more  before  the  house  into  which  the  woman  had  en- 
tered. Here  he  remained  until  the  clock  of  a  near-by 
church  struck  the  hour  of  eleven.  Then,  drawing  him- 
self together,  the  man  hurried  away  with  rapid  steps. 
Reaching  a  house  on  a  side  street,  he  opened  a  door 
with  a  latch-key,  and  passed  within.  Up  three  flights 
of  stairs  he  moved  till  he  came  to  a  little  room  on  the 
top  floor.  Groping  around  in  the  dark,  he  lighted  an 
oil  lamp  fastened  to  the  wall. 

It  was  a  humble  and  scantily  furnished  garret  he  had 
entered.  In  one  corner  was  a  narrow  cot.  At  its  foot 
stood  a  wash-stand,  over  which  hung  a  small  cracked 
mirror.  A  rough  worn  table  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
room,  upon  which  rested  a  well-kept  violin  lying  by  its- 
open  case.  Opposite  the  door  was  an  open  fire-place, 
and  as  the  night  was  chilly  the  man  lighted  a  fire  from 
several  dry  sticks,  and  threw  on  some  soft  coal.  Soon 
a  cheerful  blaze  was  curling  up  the  chimney,  before 


12  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

which  the  man  sat  on  the  one  rickety  chair  the  room 
contained  and  warmed  his  numbed  hands. 

For  over  half  an  hour  he  remained  thus,  gazing  down 
intently  into  the  fire.  But  hotter  than  the  coals  before 
him  seemed  the  eyes  which  burned  in  his  head.  At  last 
he  aroused  from  his  reverie  and,  crossing  the  room, 
opened  a  small  grip  and  brought  forth  a  carefully-folded  * 
newspaper  clipping.  This  he  unwrapped,  spread  it  out 
upon  the  table,  and  drawing  up  his  chair  sat  down.  He 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  an  article  with  the  big  headline, 
"Deposed  by  His  Bishop."  A  deep  flush  mantled  his 
cheeks  and  brow  as  he  read  for  more  than  the  thou- 
sandth time  that  story  of  disgrace  and  degradation.  He 
had  really  no  need  to  read  it  over  again,  for  every  word 
was  seared  upon  his  soul  as  with  a  red-hot  iron.  But 
the  printed  words  seemed  to  fascinate  him.  The  tale  was 
all  there  in  black  and  white,  and  the  newspaper  had 
made  the  most  of  it. 

But  there  were  things  which  were  not  recorded  in 
cold  type,  and  ere  long  his  eyes  drifted  from  the  printed 
page  far  off  into  space.  He  beheld  again  the  white- 
haired  bishop  sitting  in  his  library,  and  heard  his  voice 
tremble  as  he  uttered  the  words  which  deposed  him  for- 
ever from  the  Ministry.  Then  he  recalled  his  own  hot 
invectives  hurled  against  the  Church,  and  the  vow  that 
he  would  banish  it  and  its  teaching  entirely  from  his 
heart  and  mind,  and  free  himself  from  its  influence.  He 
remembered  his  scornful  laugh  when  the  bishop  told  him 
that  such  a  thing  was  impossible.  "Martin  Rutland," 
he  had  said  in  an  impressive  voice,  "you  know  not  what 
you  are  saying.  Do  you  imagine  that  you  can  cut  your- 
self off  from  the  influence  of  the  Church  of  your  child- 


CHORDS  OF  MEMORY  13 

hood?  I  tell  you  that  you  are  mistaken,  for  such  a 
thing  is  utterly  impossible.  The  Church  and  her  teach- 
ing will  follow  you  to  the  grave,  no  matter  to  what  part 
of  the  world  you  go."  He  had  laughed  at  the  bishop'^ 
words  then,  thinking  them  to  be  only  an  old  man's 
empty  threat. 

He  lived  over  again  his  last  visit  to  his  aged  parents. 
It  was  the  day  before  Christmas,  and  they  believed  that 
he  had  to  hurry  away  to  attend  the  services  in  his  parish 
the  next  morning.  Never  for  a  moment  did  they  sus- 
pect him  of  a  single  wrong.  How  proudly  they  had 
looked  upon  him.  as  he  stood  before  them  ere  he  left 
the  house.  He  never  saw  them  again,  and  now  in  the 
loneliness  of  his  barren  room,  a  wretched  outcast,  buf- 
feted by  the  world,  he  bowed  his  head  upon  the  table 
and  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  flood  of  passionate 
tears.  The  whole  vision  rose  before  him  with  stinging 
vividness :  his  little  home  and  the  happy  days  of  youth ; 
his  bright  prospects,  and  what  he  would  make  of  life; 
his  parents  toiling  and  denying  themselves  to  provide 
for  his  education.  It  all  came  back  to  him  this  night 
like  a  mighty  rushing  torrent.  In  the  excitement  of 
the  years  of  aimless  wandering,  he  had  partly  stifled 
the  thoughts.  But  to-night  it  was  impossible.  The 
pent-up  stream,  which  could  no  longer  be  curbed, 
had  given  way  in  one  onward  sweep,  all  the 
greater,  and  over-mastering  because  of  the  restraint 
of  years. 

He  rose  abruptly  to  his  feet  and  paced  rapidly  up  and 
down  the  room.  He  knew  what  had  brought  upon  him 
this  mood.  Why  had  he  been  so  weak  as  to  enter  that 
church?  he  asked  himself.  And  what  was  she  doing 


14  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

there!  He  could  not  separate  the  two.  The  Church 
and  Beryl  were  always  connected.  He  recalled  the  last 
time  he  had  seen  her  in  his  old  parish.  It  was  the  even- 
ing of  the  day  he  had  said  good-bye  to  his  parents.  He 
wished  to  see  her,  but  upon  approaching  her  home  his 
courage  had  failed  him.  How  could  he  look  into  her 
face  with  the  great  stain  upon  him  ?  Her  large  lustrous 
eyes  would  have  pierced  his  very  soul.  She  believed  him 
to  be  true,  noble,  and  upright.  But  how  little  was  she 
aware  as  she  sat  at  the  piano  that  night,  practising  the 
Christmas  music,  that  Rutland,  to  whom  she  had  given 
her  heart  and  hand,  was  watching  her  longingly  through 
the  window.  He  had  stood  there  until  she  ceased  her 
playing.  Then  she  had  come  to  the  window  and  looked 
out  upon  the  world  of  snow  and  ice.  He  remembered 
how  he  had  shrunk  back  fearful  lest  she  should  see  him. 
For  some  time  did  she  stand  there,  and  Rutland  knew 
that  of  him  she  was  thinking.  He  had  waited  until  the 
house  was  in  darkness,  and  then  crept  back  to  his  own 
lodging  place. 

How  every  incident  of  that  night  was  burnt  upon  his 
brain!  He  had  left  the  parish  like  a  coward,  and  when 
several  days  later  the  startling  news  of  his  fall  and 
deposition  reached  Glendale  he  was  swallowed  up  in 
the  great  world  of  seething  humanity.  He  knew  nothing 
of  the  grief  and  agony  of  his  parents,  nor  the  over- 
whelming blow  which  for  a  time  almost  prostrated  Beryl 
Heathcote.  But  he  read  the  accounts  of  his  degradation 
in  the  papers,  and  heard  men  by  his  side  discuss  the 
affair  in  a  light  careless  manner.  How  he  had  recoiled 
as  he  listened  to  their  rough  remarks,  and  their  apparent 
delight  that  another  clergyman  had  gone  astray.  In  a 


CHORDS  OF  MEMORY  15 

few  weeks  the  story  of  wrong  was  forgotten,  save  by 
those  whose  hearts  had  been  most  sorely  stricken. 

Rutland  had  wandered  far  and  wide,  staying  only 
long  enough  in  any  one  place  to  earn  enough  money  to 
supply  his  scanty  needs.  He  would  prove  the  bishop's 
words  to  be  false.  He  would  get  away  from  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Church  and  all  religious  teaching.  He 
attended  no  place  of  worship  during  the  years  of  his 
wanderings,  and  though  living  in  a  country  of  churches 
and  Church  activities  he  believed  that  he  had  so  steeled 
his  heart  and  mind  that  never  again  could  they  exert 
any  influence  over  him.  He  lived  entirely  for  himself, 
and  to  the  few  people  he  occasionally  met  he  was  a  mys- 
tery. 

But  Rutland  had  found  that  he  could  as  easily  walk 
through  a  flower-garden  and  not  touch  the  flowers  nor 
inhale  their  fragrance  as  he  could  pass  through  the 
world  and  not  be  affected  by  the  influence  of  the  Chris- 
tian religion.  He  upbraided  himself  for  his  weakness 
in  entering  that  church.  That  it  should  never  happen 
again  he  was  determined.  He  must  get  away  far  off 
into  the  wilderness.  He  would  go  where  the  influence 
of  the  Church  was  unknown,  and  where  it  was  not  even 
a  name.  He  would  penetrate  regions  never  before  trod- 
den by  the  feet  of  white  man,  and  there  at  last  he  would 
find  the  rest  and  peace  he  desired.  To  stay  longer  in 
this  city  so  near  to  Beryl  he  could  not.  The  thought 
of  her,  however,  brought  a  degree  of  calmness  to  his 
troubled  mind.  He  had  ever  associated  her  with  peace. 
In  days  gone  by  her  mere  presence  was  refreshing.  Now 
she  was  near,  but  he  must  not  go  to  her,  neither  must 
she  ever  know  how  close  he  had  been  to  her  this  night. 


16  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

When  she  thought  of  him,  he  mused,  it  must  be  with  the 
deepest  loathing.  What  a  terrible  change  the  years  had 
brought  about !  There  was  a  time  when  he  could  hasten 
to  her  side,  and  rejoice  in  her  love.  How  she  would 
listen  to  him  as  he  played  upon  the  violin,  and  often 
she  would  accompany  him  upon  the  piano.  All  that  was 
changed  now.  They  were  sundered  more  widely  than 
by  the  broadest  ocean. 

At  length  he  paused  before  the  table  and  picked  up 
the  violin,  one  of  the  few  cherished  things  he  had  car- 
ried with  him.  It  alone  had  been  his  comforting  com- 
panion in  his  wretched  wandering  life.  And  so  to-night 
as  he  seated  himself  upon  the  cranky  chair,  and  drew 
the  bow  across  the  strings,  the  old  mystic  spell  swept 
over  his  soul.  He  was  a  child  once  more,  care-free  and 
happy,  playing  around  his  home  with  the  flowers,  birds, 
bees,  and  butterflies  as  his  companions.  He  passed  into 
his  first  and  only  parish.  He  saw  the  faces  of  those  to 
whom  he  ministered  turned  up  to  him,  their  chosen 
leader.  But  brightest  and  most-outstanding  of  all  was 
the  face  of  Beryl  as  she  watched  him  from  her  seat  by 
the  little  church  organ. 

When  Kutland  ceased  the  fire  was  out  in  the  grate, 
and  a  clock  in  a  near-by  steeple  was  striking  the  hour 
of  two.  A  shiver  passed  through  his  body  as  he  rose  and 
laid  his  violin  tenderly  upon  the  table.  Hastily  blow- 
ing out  the  light,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  narrow  cot, 
and  drew  over  him  the  two  thin  blankets.  At  length  the 
outcast  slept,  and  for  a  time  the  fierce  agony  of  heart 
and  mind  troubled  him  no  more. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE   VERGE  OF  TREMBLING 

WHEN  the  news  of  Martin  Rutland's  ignominy 
reached  Beryl  Heathcote  all  the  light  and  joy 
passed  out  of  her  life.  At  first  she  could  not  believe  it 
possible,  and  hoped  against  hope  that  there  had  been 
some  terrible  mistake.  In  a  few  days,  however,  she  had 
to  realise  that  it  was  only  too  true,  and  that  the  man  in 
whom  she  had  trusted  so  implicitly  was  an  outcast  not 
only  from  society  but  from  the  Church  as  well.  She 
tried  to  bear  up  and  face  the  storm  which  raged  so  furi- 
ously in  the  parish.  On  every  side  she  was  forced  to 
listen  to  the  most  scathing  denunciations  of  the  deposed 
clergyman.  People  seemed  to  take  a  fiendish  delight 
in  calling  upon  her  to  discuss  the  affair  and  to  express 
their  undesired  sympathy.  No  word  of  blame  or  com- 
plaint passed  her  lips.  At  first  she  cherished  the  feeble 
hope  that  Martin  would  either  return  or  write  to  her, 
that  he  would  prove  himself  innocent.  But  as  the  days 
slowly  edged  into  weeks,  and  no  word  came,  a  heavy 
despair  settled  upon  her.  The  strain  proved  too  much 
to  bear,  and  she  succumbed  to  a  long  serious  illness, 
from  which  it  was  believed  at  one  time  that  she  could 
not  recover. 

When  at  last  she  was  able  to  sit  up  she  was  but  the 

17 


18  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

shadow  of  her  former  happy  buoyant  self.  "Oh,  if  I 
had  only  died!"  she  moaned.  "What  a  relief  it  would 
have  been.  How  can  I  face  life  again  with  this  terrible 
weight  upon  my  heart ! ' ' 

When  she  was  stronger  she  became  determined  to 
leave  Glendale,  the  Gethsemane  of  her  young  life,  and 
to  go  where  she  would  no  longer  hear  the  story  of  shame, 
and  where  curious  eyes  would  not  follow  her  whenever 
she  moved  abroad. 

Her  only  sister  lived  in  a  western  city  and  thither 
she  made  her  way.  What  a  relief  it  was  to  her  burdened 
heart  to  have  the  comfort  of  her  sister 's  love.  Here  she 
could  rest  and  endeavour  to  gather  up  as  far  as  possible 
the  tangled  and  broken  threads  of  her  life. 

This,  however,  she  found  to  be  most  difficult,  and 
months  passed  before  she  was  able  to  compose  her  mind 
and  think  of  the  future.  She  felt  that  she  should  be 
doing  something,  and  thus  not  depend  upon  others.  To 
return  to  her  old  home  to  the  love  and  attention  which 
would  be  hers  there  she  could  not.  She  must  remain 
away  from  the  scene  of  her  great  sorrow. 

In  work,  Beryl  believed,  she  could  in  a  measure  forget 
herself.  But  what  work  could  she  do?  Music  was  the 
only  thing  in  which  she  had  been  thoroughly  trained. 
But  the  idea  of  turning  to  it  now,  and  taking  in  pupils, 
was  most  repugnant.  Not  since  that  night  when  she  had 
played  in  her  old  home,  when  Martin  Rutland  was 
watching  longingly  through  the  window,  had  she  touched 
the  keys  of  any  instrument.  Neither  had  she  sung  a 
single  note.  Music  had  passed  out  of  her  life,  and  the 
clear  sweet  voice  which  had  thrilled  the  hearts  of  so 
many  was  stilled. 


THE  VERGE  OF  TREMBLING  19 

At  length,  after  discussing  the  matter  with  her  sister, 
Beryl  decided  to  become  a  nurse.  Not  that  she  cared  at 
at  all  for  the  profession,  but  it  was  the  only  thing  that 
seemed  to  offer,  and  she  must  keep  her  mind  and  hands 
employed  if  she  were  to  forget  the  past.  That  she  must 
forget  she  was  determined,  and  she  believed  that  in  time 
the  deep  wound  her  heart  had  received  would  be  at  least 
partly  healed. 

During  the  months  of  her  inactivity  she  had  brooded 
much  over  what  had  taken  place  in  her  life.  Many  were 
the  battles  she  had  fought,  silent  and  alone.  At  times 
a  bitterness,  so  foreign  to  her  loving  nature,  possessed 
her.  Then  it  was  that  her  faith  in  God  and  man  weak- 
ened. Was  there  a  Father  in  heaven  who  cared?  she 
would  ask  herself  over  and  over  again.  If  so,  why  had 
He  allowed  her  bright  young  life  to  be  so  clouded  and 
blighted?  Then  she  would  think  of  Martin  and  how 
much  he  had  meant  to  her.  Though  she  had  always  de- 
fended him,  or  remained  silent  when  others  had  con- 
demned, nevertheless  in  her  own  heart  the  thought  of 
what  he  had  done  rankled  sore.  But  her  love  was  too 
strong  for  such  feelings  to  last  for  any  length  of  time, 
and  so  she  was  always  able  to  come  forth  unscathed 
from  the  fierce  struggles. 

Beryl  threw  herself  with  much  energy  into  the  work 
of  her  new  profession.  She  made  rapid  progress,  and  all 
who  came  into  contact  with  her  were  charmed  by  her 
gentleness  of  manner,  and  the  sweetness  of  her  disposi- 
tion. To  the  patients,  especially,  she  was  an  angel  of 
light.  No  voice  was  as  comforting,  and  no  hand  as 
soothing  as  hers,  and  they  would  always  watch  eagerly 
for  the  nurse  who  had  the  sunny  smile  of  cheer.  Though 


20  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

her  own  heart  might  be  heavy,  she  revealed  nothing  of 
her  sorrow  to  the  world,  hut  radiated  sunshine  wherever 
she  went. 

But  Beryl  found  it  a  severe  strain  to  be  always  pre- 
senting to  the  world  a  bright  face,  and  by  the  time  her 
course  of  training  was  almost  over  she  felt  that  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  do  so  much  longer.  Every  day  it 
was  necessary  for  her  to  force  herself  to  her  duties, 
and  to  assume  that  lightness  of  heart  which  she  did  not 
feel.  She  had  little  to  give  her  that  zest  for  her  work 
which  would  make  each  task  a  joy.  Must  she  go  through 
life,  lacking  the  needful  inspiration?  she  often  asked 
herself.  She  knew  the  difference  between  work  done  in 
the  spirit  of  duty  and  love.  One  was  mechanical,  a 
mere  tread-mill  round ;  the  other  was  of  the  heart. 

She  was  thinking  of  these  things  one  Sunday  night 
during  service  in  the  church  where  she  generally  at- 
tended, and  which  was  the  nearest  to  her  sister's  home. 
As  a  rule  she  was  a  most  devoted  and  attentive  wor- 
shipper. But  to-night  her  thoughts  wandered.  They 
would  go  back  to  Glendale,  and  to  that  little  church, 
where  for  years  she  had  been  organist.  Again  she  saw 
Martin  conducting  the  service  just  as  he  used  to  do  be- 
fore his  fall. 

Somehow  it  seemed  to  Beryl  that  he  was  near  her  this 
night.  Once  she  glanced  partly  around  as  if  expecting 
to  see  him  in  the  church.  She  could  not  account  for 
the  idea,  as  she  never  had  such  a  feeling  before.  With 
an  effort  she  checked  her  wandering  thoughts,  and  fixed 
them  upon  what  the  clergyman  in  the  pulpit  was  saying. 
At  once  her  interest  became  aroused,  and  she  followed 
him  with  the  deepest  attention.  He  was  speaking  about 


THE  VERGE  OF  TREMBLING  21 

Service,  and  referred  to  the  noble  work  nurses  were  do- 
ing both  at  home  and  in  the  mission  field.  He  told  also 
about  the  Red  Cross  Society,  and  paid  a  tribute  to  Flor- 
ence Nightingale.  He  then  quoted  one  verse  of  Long- 
fellow's "Santa  Filomena": 

"A  lady  with  a  lamp  shall  stand 
In  the  great  history  of  the  land, 
A  noble  type  of  good, 
Heroic  womanhood." 

As  he  uttered  these  words  a  strange  new  thrill  swept 
through  Beryl.  Her  heart  beat  fast,  and  her  face 
flushed  with  living  interest — the  first  time  in  years.  Al- 
most in  an  instant  she  became  transformed.  Hitherto 
she  had  been  trembling  on  the  verge  of  uncertainty, 
with  nothing  definite  in  life.  Now  she  had  a  purpose, 
which,  like  a  star  of  hope,  burst  suddenly  into  view. 

The  last  hymn  was  given  out,  and  the  congregation 
rose,  and  joined  in  the  singing.  Beryl  knew  the  words 
and  had  no  need  of  a  book,  though  she  held  one  in  her 
hand.  An  impulse  now  stirred  her  heart,  her  lips  moved, 
and  at  last,  like  a  wild  bird  escaped  from  its  cage,  she 
lifted  up  her  voice,  and  sang  for  the  first  time  in  years. 
And  it  was  that  voice  which  Martin  heard,  where  he 
crouched  in  a  back  seat,  and  which  thrilled  his  entire 
being. 

When  the  service  was  over,  Beryl  left  the  church  and 
hurried  to  her  sister's  house.  She  knew  nothing  of  the 
lonely  outcast,  who  yearningly  followed  her,  and  then 
paced  the  street  for  hours  after  the  door  had  closed 
behind  her. 

When  alone  with  her  sister  that  night,  Beryl  related 


22  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

her  experience  in  the  church  and  the  new  purpose  which 
had  come  into  her  life.  They  were  seated  before  an  open 
fire,  and  the  light  illumined  their  fair  faces  with  a  soft 
glow. 

"Yes,"  Beryl  told  her,  "I  have  at  last  made  up  my 
mind.  I  am  going  to  offer  for  the  mission  field.  I  care 
not  to  what  place  I  am  sent  so  long  as  it  is  somewhere. ' ' 

"You  will  need  training,  perhaps,  in  that  special 
work, ' '  her  sister  replied. 

"I  know  it,  Lois.  But  you  see,  when  I  have  gradu- 
ated I  shall  take  a  course  in  preparatory  mission  work. 
I  understand  there  is  such  a  school  in  this  city  con- 
nected with  our  Church.  I  shall  then  know  where  I 
shall  be  sent." 

"It  will  be  a  grand  work,  Beryl,"  and  Lois  Hardinge 
laid  her  hand  lovingly  upon  that  of  her  sister's.  "It 
will  take  you  out  of  yourself,  and  make  you  forget  the 
past." 

"It  can  never  make  me  forget,"  and  Beryl  gazed 
thoughtfully  into  the  fire  as  she  spoke.  "I  can  never 
forget  him,  and  I  don't  want  to  now.  No  matter  what 
people  say,  I  cannot  believe  that  he  is  a  bad  man,  even 
though  he  has  fallen  and  is  an  outcast  from  the  Church. 
Oh,  Lois,  do  you  know  I  had  the  feeling  to-night  that  he 
was  near  me  during  service.  It  was  only  a  fancy,  of 
course,  but  it  seemed  so  real.  Since  then  I  have  the  idea 
that  somewhere,  sometime,  I  shall  meet  him,  that  we 
shall  understand  each  other,  and  that  all  will  be  well." 

"God  grant  it  so,  dear,"  her  sister  fervently  replied. 
"If  it  will  comfort  you  in  your  work  hold  fast  to  that 
hope." 


CHAPTER   III 

A  WILDERNESS   WAIF 

great  Mackenzie  River  flowed  with  a  strong  and 
steady  sweep  on  its  way  to  the  Arctic  Sea.  Two 
boats  floated  upon  its  surface,  bearing  northward, 
manned  for  the  most  part  by  half-breeds  and  Indians. 
Employees  were  they  in  the  service  of  the  notable  Fur 
Trading  Company,  which  for  long  years  had  ruled  this 
wilderness  land.  For  weeks  these  men  had  been  pushing 
their  way  along  this  stream,  contending  with  rocks, 
rapids,  and  portages.  Their  work  was  hard,  but  they 
did  it  with  a  rollicking  good  humour,  and  took  every 
difficulty  as  all  in  the  day's  labour. 

Martin  Rutland  worked  as  hard  as  the  rest  though 
he  talked  but  little.  A  spirit  of  elation  grew  within  him 
as  they  advanced  into  the  great  silent  region.  He  re- 
joiced at  the  work,  no  matter  how  hard  it  might  be. 
He  had  little  time  for  thought  during  the  day,  but  at 
night  in  camp  he  would  sit  somewhat  apart  and  con- 
sider the  new  life  which  was  now  opening  up  to  him. 
He  seldom  joined  in  talk  with  his  companions,  and  they 
did  not  interfere  with  him  in  any  way.  This  strange, 
silent,  hard-working  man  was  a  mystery  to  both  half- 
breeds  and  Indians  alike.  It  was  only  when  he  brought 
forth  his  violin  and  began  to  play  that  they  would 

23 


24  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

gather  eagerly  around  him.  Music  has  charms  when 
produced  by  a  master,  and  such  was  Rutland.  But 
never  does  it  seem  so  entrancing  as  out  in  the  open  on  a 
calm  evening  beneath  the  branches  of  the  tall,  over- 
shadowing trees.  There  is  a  mystic  plaintiveness  about 
the  sound  of  a  violin  on  such  an  occasion.  Rutland's 
music  was  generally  in  a  minor  key.  It  expressed  his 
inmost  feelings,  and  often  as  he  played  the  naturally 
superstitious  half-breed  would  glance  apprehensively 
among  the  shadowy  trees.  It  awed  them  by  its  strange 
weirdness  like  wailing  spirits,  lost,  wandering,  and  seek- 
ing vainly  for  refuge  and  peace.  At  other  times  Rut- 
land would  play  bright  airs  and  snatches  of  old  songs, 
which  delighted  the  hearts  of  his  companions  and  ban- 
ished their  feeling  of  fear. 

Each  day  of  progress  brought  to  Rutland  a  greater 
feeling  of  exultation.  At  last  he  was  free  from  all  in- 
fluence of  the  Church  which  had  cast  him  out.  Here  in 
this  barren  region  he  could  live  like  the  natives,  free 
from  care.  He  would  seek  some  far-off  band,  and  be- 
come one  of  them.  He  had  read  much  about  the  Indians, 
and  their  picturesque  life  had  always  appealed  to  him 
most  strongly.  He  would  watch  his  opportunity,  steal 
away,  and  live  and  die  in  their  midst,  more  of  an  out- 
cast than  they. 

At  times  he  thought  about  the  Church  to  which  he 
had  once  belonged,  and  a  contemptuous  sneer  always 
curled  his  lips  when  he  thought  of  it.  Lying  among  the 
trees,  he  often  wondered  how  he  had  ever  endured  the 
thraldom  of  bygone  days.  He  remembered  how  particu- 
lar he  had  been  about  the  observance  of  the  slightest 
rule.  In  the  performance  of  his  duties  he  had  followed 


A  WILDERNESS  WAIF  25 

the  rubrics  of  the  Prayer  Book  with  the  most  punctili- 
ous care.  The  slightest  deviation  from  the  rules  laid 
down  filled  him  with  much  concern.  Special  days  had 
been  kept  with  great  regularity,  and  the  command  of 
his  bishop  was  as  his  conscience.  But  now  all  was 
changed.  The  solemn  vows  he  had  taken  did  not  trouble 
him  in  the  least,  and  the  Church  was  to  him  merely  a 
name.  Neither  did  the  sin  which  had  driven  him  forth 
disturb  him.  The  spirit  of  rebellion  had  reigned  in  his 
heart  during  all  the  years  of  his  wandering  life.  He 
believed  that  he  had  been  unjustly  treated.  He  did  not 
blame  himself,  but  others.  He  thought  of  his  comrades 
in  the  Ministry,  and  a  feeling  of  pity  and  superiority 
came  into  his  heart.  He  pictured  them  moving  in  their 
narrow,  petty  circle  as  of  old,  and  he  asked  himself  what 
did  it  all  amount  to  anyway.  The  spell  of  the  wilder- 
ness was  now  upon  him,  and  he  longed  for  the  voyage 
to  end.  He  would  abandon  the  boat  when  it  had  reached 
its  most  northerly  destination.  Then,  when  his  com- 
panions had  started  back,  he  would  plunge  into  regions 
beyond  and  become  lost  forever  to  the  world  of  civiliza. 
tion. 

One  evening  after  a  hard  day's  work  they  came  to 
a  small  Indian  encampment  just  below  a  dangerous 
rapid.  They  had  much  difficulty  in  overcoming  this 
turbulent  piece  of  water,  and  very  glad  were  they  to 
rest  after  their  arduous  exertions.  They  found  the  In- 
dians in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  the  cause  of  which 
'  was  soon  apparent.  That  very  day  a  young  fur-trader 
and  his  wife  had  been  drowned  in  an  attempt  to  shoot 
the  rapid  in  a  canoe.  Their  little  child,  a  girl  of  four 
years,  had  been  rescued  by  the  natives,  and  taken  to 


26  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

their  encampment.  The  woman's  body  was  recovered, 
but  of  the  man  no  trace  could  be  found. 

Rutland,  with  several  of  his  companions,  entered  the 
lodge  where  the  body  of  the  unfortunate  woman  was 
lying.  As  he  drew  back  the  deer-skin  robe  which  had 
been  placed  over  her  still  form,  he  was  surprised  at  the 
young  and  beautiful  face  which  was  presented  to  view. 
He  stood  there  for  some  time  after  the  rest  of  the  men 
had  taken  a  hurried  look  and  departed.  He  could  not 
get  the  face  of  the  dead  woman  out  of  his  mind,  and  he 
awoke  in  the  deep  of  the  night  thinking  that  she  was 
standing  by  his  side.  In  his  dream  he  beheld  her,  and 
she  was  pointing  with  her  finger  to  something  lying  at 
his  feet,  which  he  saw  to  be  a  little  child. 

The  Indian  women  had  taken  good  care  of  the  rescued, 
child,  and  she  awoke  from  a  sound  sleep  none  the  worse 
for  her  cold  plunge  into  the  river  the  day  before.  Open- 
ing her  eyes,  she  expected  to  see  the  loved  faces  of  her 
parents  looking  down  fondly  upon  her.  Her  bright, 
happy  expression  changed  to  one  of  terror  when  she  saw 
instead  the  dusky  native  women  bending  over  her. 
Wildly  she  called  for  her  mother,  but  alas !  for  the  first 
time  in  her  young  life  her  mother  did  not  respond  with 
loving  words,  nor  hurry  to  her  side. 

Rutland,  hearing  the  cry  of  terror,  hastened  to  the 
lodge  and  entered.  "Why  he  did  so  he  could  not  tell. 
He  did  not  stop  to  analyse  his  feelings,  but  acted  merely 
upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  It  was  sufficient  for 
him  to  know  that  the  little  one  was  in  distress  and 
needed  assistance.  A  large  Indian  woman  was  holding 
the  child  in  her  arms  when  Rutland  appeared.  Several 
squaws  were  gathered  around  trying  to  soothe  her.  But 


A  WILDERNESS  WAIF  27 

the  more  they  talked  in  the  native  tongue  the  more 
terrified  the  child  became.  Rutland  stood  for  an  instant 
just  within  the  entrance  of  the  lodge.  He  saw  the  little 
girl,  her  face  distorted  with  fear,  struggling  madly  to 
free  herself,  and  pleading  vainly  for  her  mother.  Not 
for  years  had  Rutland's  heart  been  so  stirred.  He 
stepped  quickly  forward  and  reached  out  his  hands  to 
the  child.  The  latter  saw  him  and,  intuitively  realising 
that  here  was  one  who  could  be  trusted,  endeavoured  to 
go  to  him,  while  a  sob  of  relief  escaped  her  lips.  Rut- 
land caught  her  in  his  arms,  folded  her  to  his  breast,  and 
began  to  calm  her  with  words  of  comfort. 

"Hush,  hush,  little  one,"  he  soothed,  as  he  stroked 
her  silken  hair.  "You  are  safe  with  me,  so  don't  cry 
any  more." 

"Mamma,  mamma.  I  want  my  mamma,"  wailed  the 
child. 

Rutland  knew  not  how  to  reply.  He  was  little  accus- 
tomed to  the  ways  of  children,  so  all  he  could  do  was  to 
hold  her  close  to  his  breast  and  tell  her  that  she  was 
safe.  Ere  long  his  words  had  the  desired  effect,  and 
soon  she  remained  quietly  in  his  arms  looking  up  into 
his  face  with  big,  wondering  eyes.  Passing  forth  from 
the  lodge,  Rutland  sat  down  upon  the  trunk  of  a  fallen 
tree  just  outside  the  door.  He  placed  the  child  upon 
his  knee,  and  began  to  talk  to  her.  He  pointed  out  to 
her  a  squirrel  sitting  upon  the  branch  of  a  jack-pine  not 
far  off.  The  child's  eyes  grew  bright,  her  face  beamed 
with  pleasure,  and  she  clapped  her  hands  with  delight. 
In  a  few  moments  they  were  the  firmest  of  friends,  and 
soon  they  started  off  in  search  of  the  chattering  squir- 
rel. It  was  a  balmy  morning,  with  not  a  ripple  upon 


28  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

the  surface  of  the  river.  A  new  feeling  of  peace  stole 
into  Rutland's  heart  as  he  walked  by  the  side  of  the 
child  with  her  soft  hand  in  his.  She  was  a  beautiful 
little  maid,  with  wavy  brown  hair,  rosy  cheeks,  and 
clear,  dark  eyes.  Her  plaid  dress  was  neatly  made,  and 
her  shoes  were  of  a  light-tan  colour.  At  her  throat  was 
a  small  silver  clasp-pin,  with  the  one  word  "Nance" 
engraven  upon  it,  which  Rutland  believed  must  be  her 
name. 

After  they  had  strolled  about  for  a  while  they  re- 
turned to  the  lodge,  where  the  Indian  women  were  pre- 
paring breakfast. 

"You  stay  here,  little  one,"  Rutland  said.  "These 
women  will  give  you  something  to  eat.  I  must  go  away 
now,  but  I  shall  come  back  soon. ' ' 

"No,  no,"  the  child  cried,  clinging  close  to  him.  "I 
don 't  want  to  stay.  I  want  my  mamma.  Take  me  to  my 
mamma.  Where  is  my  mamma  ? ' ' 

"She  can't  come  to  you  now,"  Rutland  replied.  "But 
I  promise  you  that  I  shall  come  back  soon. ' ' 

After  much  persuasion  the  child  was  induced  to  re- 
main, but  she  watched  her  protector  anxiously,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  as  he  left  her. 

Rutland  hurried  at  once  toward  the  forest  along  an 
Indian  trail,  which  led  to  a  hill  not  far  from  the  river. 
Here  was  a  native  burying  ground  where  a  new  grave 
had  been  dug  that  morning.  His  companions  were  al- 
ready assembled,  and  by  the  time  Rutland  arrived  they 
had  the  body  of  the  young  woman  lowered  into  the 
ground.  This  task  was  performed  in  deep  silence,  for 
the  presence  of  death  stilled  the  tongues  of  these  usually 
garrulous  men.  No  coffin  had  they  in  which  to  place 


A  WILDERNESS  WAIF  29 

the  body.  Instead,  a  grey  blanket  was  used  as  a  shroud, 
and  this  had  been  carefully  wrapped  around  the  stiff- 
ened form. 

As  Rutland  stood  by  the  grave  and  looked  down  upon 
all  that  remained  of  Nance's  mother  he  thought  of  the 
dream  which  had  come  to  him  in  the  night,  and  he  saw 
again  the  woman  pointing  silently  to  the  child  at  his 
feet.  Between  him  and  the  men  standing  by  his  side 
there  was  a  great  gulf  fixed.  They  were  rude  and  unlet- 
tered, while  he  was  an  educated  man,  capable  of  seeing 
things  not  always  revealed  to  others.  They  saw  only 
the  shrouded  form  lying  in  the  grave.  He  saw  much 
more.  He  beheld  a  little  home,  which  had  been  rudely 
shattered  by  the  sudden  death  of  husband  and  wife. 
He  pictured  loved  ones  far  away  waiting  anxiously  for 
news  from  the  great  northland,  and  then  the  sorrow 
when  at  last  the  tidings  reached  them,  if  ever  they  did, 
of  the  precious  toll  the  wilderness  had  taken.  He 
thought,  too,  of  the  little  child  so  terribly  bereaved, 
upon  whom  so  much  love  and  care  had  been  bestowed. 
What  would  become  of  her  ?  he  asked  himself. 

He  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by  the  sound  of 
shovels  striking  hard  upon  gravel.  He  looked  quickly 
up  and  saw  that  the  men  were  making  ready  to  fill 
in  the  grave.  For  an  instant  only  he  hesitated  and 
^hen  straightening  himself  up  he  raised  his  right 
hand. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  commanded.  "It  is  not  right 
that  we  should  lay  this  woman  here  without  one  word, 
of  prayer.  Who  will  say  it?" 

At  once  every  hat  was  doffed,  and  the  men  looked  at 
one  another. 


SO  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"You  go  ahead,  pard,"  said  one  at  length.  "You 
know  best  what  to  say. ' ' 

Yes,  Rutland  knew  very  well  what  to  say — the  exact 
words — but  why  should  he  utter  them?  He  had  put 
everything  connected  with  his  Church  away  from  him 
forever.  He  paused  in  an  effort  to  think  of  something 
else.  Twice  he  started,  but  each  time  floundered  and 
stopped.  He  could  not  back  down,  for  the  men  were 
watching  him.  He  must  say  something  over  the  body 
of  Nance's  mother.  At  length,  pulling  himself  together, 
he  repeated  the  words  he  had  used  so  often  in  other 
days. 

"Forasmuch  as  it  hath  pleased  Almighty  God  of  his 
great  mercy  to  take  to  himself  the  soul  of  our  dear  sister 
here  departed,  we  therefore  commit  her  body  to  the 
ground;  earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust." 
Here  he  paused,  stooped,  and  seizing  a  handful  of  gravel 
sprinkled  it  three  times  upon  the  body.  This  done,  he 
continued  the  prayer  to  the  end.  Then  he  stepped  back 
and  remained  perfectly  silent,  watching  the  men  as  they 
rapidly  filled  in  and  rounded  up  the  grave.  In  fact, 
he  stood  there  until  his  companions  had  gone  back  to 
the  river.  Then  he  looked  cautiously  around  to  be  sure 
that  he  was  alone.  Seeing  no  one  in  sight,  he  picked 
up  two  sticks  lying  upon  the  ground  and  fastened  them 
together  into  the  form  of  a  cross,  with  a  piece  of  a  raw 
moose-hide  thong  he  had  in  his  pocket.  This  he  placed 
at  the  head  of  the  newly-made  grave,  thrusting  it  well 
down  into  the  loose  earth. 

Rutland  could  not  account  for  what  he  had  done.  If 
any  one  had  told  him  when  he  awoke  that  morning  that 
he  would  repeat  that  prayer  and  erect  this  rude  cross, 


A  WILDERNESS  WAIF  31' 

he  would  have  scoffed  at  the  idea.  "I  did  it  all  for  the 
child's  sake,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  an  excuse  for  his 
temporary  weakness.  At  once  there  flashed  into  his 
mind  the  words  of  the  aged  bishop.  "Do  you  think 
that  you  can  free  yourself  from  the  influence  of  the 
Church?  I  tell  you  that  you  are  mistaken;  it  is  im- 
possible." Rutland's  hands  clenched  hard  as  the 
memory  of  the  past  swept  upon  him.  He  reached  down 
and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  cross  he  had  just  erected. 
He  would  tear  it  out  and  break  it  into  a  dozen  pieces. 
But  as  he  touched  that  symbol  of  redemption  his  out- 
stretched arm  dropped  by  his  side,  and  his  head  drooped 
low.  Though  an  outcast,  and  determined  to  have  noth- 
ing more  to  do  with  his  Church,  he  knew  now  that  its 
influence  was  upon  him  still.  It  was  harder  than  he  had 
imagined  to  uproot  the  teaching  which  had  been  im- 
planted in  his  heart  and  mind  in  early  days,  and  care- 
fully nourished  throughout  the  years.  But  he  would 
succeed.  Never  again  would  he  allow  such  weakness  to 
possess  him.  He  would  prove  the  bishop's  words  to  be 
false. 

When  Rutland  returned  to  the  encampment  he  found 
that  his  companions  were  almost  ready  to  depart.  Nance 
saw  him  approaching,  and  with  a  cry  of  delight  ran  to 
meet  him.  He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  his  heart 
thrilled  with  joy  at  her  confidence.  Here  was  the  one 
person  in  the  whole  world  to  greet  him  and  look  up  to 
him  for  protection'.  He  carried  her  to  where  several 
Indian  women  were  squatting  upon  the  ground. 

"You  stay  here,  little  one,"  and  he  gently  untwined 
her  arms  from  around  his  neck  as  he  spoke.  ' '  Be  a  good 
girl,  and  I  shall  come  back  to  you  some  day. ' ' 


32  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

For  a  few  brief  heart  beats  the  child  lifted  her  head, 
looked  searchingly  into  his  eyes,  and  then  with  a  piteous 
wail  of  despair  clung  to  him  closer  than  ever. 

" Don't  leave  me.  Don't  leave,  me,"  she  sobbed. 
"Take  me  with  you.  Take  me  to  my  papa  and  mamma. 
I  won 't  stay  here.  I  won 't. ' ' 

Rutland  did  not  know  what  to  do.  He  seated  himself 
upon  a  stump  and  placed  Nance  on  his  knee.  Pie  tried 
to  reason  with  her,  telling  her  how  happy  she  would  be 
with  the  Indian  women,  and  how  they  would  care  for 
her.  But  his  words  were  of  no  avail.  The  more  he 
talked,  the  closer  she  clung  to  him,  and  begged  him  not 
to  leave  her. 

A  shout  from  the  river  warned  Rutland  that  his 
companions  were  ready  to  depart.  Quickly  rising  to  his 
feet,  he  unloosened  the  child's  arms,  handed  her  to  an 
old  squaw,  and  moved  rapidly  away.  At  once  wild 
shrieks  of  despair  and  terror  filled  the  air.  He  en- 
deavoured not  to  listen,  and  tried  to  steel  his  heart. 
But  it  was  no  use.  He  stopped  and  looked  back.  He 
saw  the  child  where  he  had  left  her,  her  little  hands 
stretched  out  appealingly  toward  him.  The  sight  was 
more  than  he  could  endure.  Hesitating  no  longer,  he 
rushed  back,  seized  her  in  his  arms,  bore  her  swiftly  to 
the  river,  and  placed  her  gently  in  one  of  the  boats. 
In  a  few  minutes  they  were  speeding  northward,  and 
with  them  went  Nance,  the  little  waif  of  the  wilderness. 


CHAPTER   IV 

BY  THE  MIRRORING  LAKE 

OF  all  the  sheets  of  water  lying  hidden  in  the  great 
range  of  mountains  sloping  to  the  cold  North 
Pacific  Ocean,  none  was  fairer  than  Lake  Klutana.  It 
was  one  of  nature's  most  beautiful  cameos.  Tall,  dark 
trees  of  spruce,  fir,  and  jack-pine  shouldered  back  from 
the  margin  and  cast  irregular  silhouettes  around  the  bor- 
der. Lofty  mountain  peaks  towered  beyond  and  re- 
flected their  coronals  of  snow  in  the  lake  which  they 
embosomed.  To  the  north-east  stretched  a  long  wooded 
valley  with  crouching  foot-hills  on  either  side.  Down 
through  this  opening  flowed  a  small  river,  called  by  the 
Indians  the  "Quaska."  Where  this  stream  joined  the 
lake  the  land  was  level,  which  from  time  immemorial 
had  afforded  an  excellent  camping  ground  for  the  na- 
tives of  the  locality. 

In  days  long  past  the  Tasko  tribe  had  been  a  large 
one.  Hundreds  of  them  had  come  regularly  to  this 
lake  to  catch  the  fine  salmon,  white,  and  other  fish  its 
water  contained.  At  times  mighty  warriors  had  gone 
forth  to  make  raids  upon  neighboring  tribes,  and  once 
a  furious  battle  had  taken  place  among  the  trees  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Quaska.  But  wars  and  diseases  had 
thinned  the  tribe  until  it  numbered  barely  one  hundred 

33 


-34  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

souls,  men,  women,  and  children  in  all.  The  days  of 
warfare  were  now  over,  and  these  natives  led  a  quiet 
life,  subsisting  chiefly  upon  the  game  which  the  land 
produced  in  abundance.  The  arrival  of  the  white  men 
beyond  the  great  mountains  of  the  rising  sun  gave  them 
a  market  for  their  furs,  which  they  bartered  for  cloth- 
ing, food  utensils,  and  trinkets  of  the  world  of  civilisa- 
tion. 

To  all  outward  appearance  theirs  was  the  ideal  life 
as  they  gathered  around  their  lodges  one  evening  when 
summer  was  slowly  merging  into  fall.  Several  small 
fires  were  sending  up  wreaths  of  smoke  into  the  pine- 
scented  air.  The  women  were  preparing  the  evening 
meal;  the  men  were  lying  prone  upon  the  ground, 
while  the  children  played  near  the  shore.  It  all  seemed 
such  a  free  and  easy  existence.  There  was  none  of  the 
mad  rush  for  wealth,  no  hard  grinding  at  the  wheels  of 
industrial  life  in  office,  factory,  or  store.  The  dwelling 
places  were  of  the  humblest.  All  the  land  for  miles 
around  was  theirs,  with  no  taxes  to  pay,  and  no  rents 
continually  coming  due.  Game  was  plentiful  in  forest 
and  stream,  with  only  a  moderate  effort  needed  to  pro- 
cure it.  Changing  fashions  were  unknown,  and  with 
the  exception  of  the  clothes  obtained  from  the  trading 
post,  they  used  the  dressed-skins  of  wild  animals  as  did 
their  ancestors  for  many  generations. 

The  sun  of  the  long  northern  summer  day  was  swing- 
ing low  in  the  west  as  three  men  suddenly  emerged  from 
the  forest,  and  moved  slowly  along  the  shore  of  the 
lake  toward  the  Indian  encampment  several  hundred 
yards  away.  They  bore  heavy  packs  strapped  upon 
their  shoulders,  while  one  carried  a  large  bundle  in  his 


35 

arms.  At  length  they  came  to  a  lodge  where  a  middle- 
aged  woman  and  a  girl  of  seventeen  were  seated  upon 
the  ground  just  before  the  entrance.  As  the  men  ap- 
proached the  women  rose  quickly  to  their  feet,  and 
looked  intently  upon  the  man  with  the  burden  in  his 
arms.  His  companions  uttered  a  few  words  in  the  gut- 
tural native  tongue,  and  at  once  the  girl  stepped  for- 
ward and  relieved  the  man  of  the  bundle.  Then  a  cry 
of  surprise  and  pleasure  came  from  her  lips  as  she  be- 
held the  little  white  face  of  a  sleeping  child  peeping 
out  from  beneath  the  blanket  with  which  it  was  en- 
folded. 

Martin  Rutland  had  greatly  changed  in  appearance 
since  the  morning  he  had  caught  Nance  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  swiftly  to  the  river.  His  hair  and  beard 
were  long,  his  face  was  worn  and  haggard,  while  his 
clothes  were  almost  in  tatters.  When  he  saw  that  Nance 
was  in  good  hands  he  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  unstrapped 
the  pack  from  his  back,  and  sank,  much  exhausted,  upon 
the  ground.  A  conversation  at  once  ensued  between  his 
two  companions  and  the  Indian  women.  Then,  while 
the  girl  laid  Nance  upon  a  bed  of  furs  within  the  lodge, 
the  other  squaw  began  to  broil  a  fish  over  the  hot  coals 
of  the  fire-place.  Rutland  was  very  hungry,  and  never 
did  any  food  taste  as  good  as  the  piece  of  salmon  which 
was  soon  handed  to  him  by  the  kind-hearted  squaw. 
This  fish  formed  the  entire  meal,  but  it  satisfied  his 
appetite.  When  he  was  through  he  lighted  his  pipe, 
and  stretched  himself  full  length  upon  the  ground. 

Though  he  did  not  understand  the  language  of  these 
people,  the  two  Indian  men  knew  a  few  words  of  Eng- 
lish. He  accordingly  learned  that  these  women  were 


36  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

their  wives.  The  name  of  the  elder  was  Naheesh,  and 
that  of  the  younger  Quabee.  Rutland  was  too  tired  to 
talk  much.  It  was  so  comfortable  lying  there,  leaning 
against  the  butt  of  a  log,  watching  the  smoke  curling 
up  from  his  well-blackened  pipe.  Other  Indians  had 
now  gathered  around,  and  a  continual  buzz  of  voices 
fell  upon  his  ears.  He  surmised  that  the  conversation 
centered  upon  himself  and  the  child  asleep  within  the 
lodge.  But  this  did  not  trouble  him  in  the  least.  One 
thing  alone  disturbed  his  mind.  He  wondered  if  he 
would  be  forced  to  leave  this  place  as  he  had  to  abandon 
camp  after  camp  during  the  past  weeks.  He  recalled,  as 
he  lay  there,  how  hard  it  had  been  to  find  a  band  of  In- 
dians uninfluenced  by  the  Church.  At  first  he  had  im- 
agined that  such  a  thing  would  be  very  easy.  In  this, 
however,  he  had  been  mistaken.  At  the  trading  post, 
where  he  and  Nance  had  left  the  boats,  there  was  a  mis- 
sion church.  That  evening,  at  the  ringing  of  the  little 
bell,  the  Indians  had  left  whatever  they  were  doing  and 
flocked  to  service.  Rutland,  knowing  that  this  was  no 
place  for  him,  had  left  at  once,  carrying  Nance  in  his 
arms.  In  company  with  several  natives  he  reached  an 
encampment  miles  away.  Here  he  believed  he  could 
remain.  But  no,  even  out  in  the  great  open  he  saw  the 
Indians  gather  together  in  a  little  group  ere  they  laid 
themselves  down  to  sleep.  He  watched  them  with  much 
curiosity,  thinking  they  were  about  to  perform  some 
ancient  heathen  rite.  One  native,  who  seemed  to  be  a 
leader,  spoke  a  few  words,  and  then  all  began  to  sing. 
Though  he  did  not  understand  a  word  of  the  language, 
he  recognised  the  tune  of  an  old  familiar  hymn.  He 
remembered  how  impressively  they  had  sung  it,  and 


BY  THE  MIRRORING  LAKE  37 

what  fine  voices  they  had.  When  they  finished  they  all 
knelt  down,  and  the  leader  prayed.  A  feeling  of  admira- 
tion swept  over  Rutland  as  he  watched  them.  Then, 
his  own  heart  began  to  rebuke  him  for  the  first  time 
since  he  left  the  Ministry.  Here  were  these  natives, 
children  of  the  wild,  putting  him,  who  had  taken  such 
solemn  vows  upon  himself,  to  utter  shame.  Had  they 
only  known  the  life-story  of  the  white  man  in  their 
midst,  what  would  they  have  thought  of  the  Christian 
religion?  He  had  looked  into  their  sincere  faces,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  years  felt  humbled.  It  was  im- 
possible for  him  to  remain  here.  How  could  he,  whose 
life  was  a  failure  and  a  disgrace,  endure  the  presence 
of  such  trusting  people?  Their  simple  faith  stabbed 
him  to  the  heart  and  brought  back  memories  he  was 
striving  so  hard  to  forget. 

He  accordingly  fled  to  other  encampments,  but  every- 
where it  was  the  same.  Out  on  the  hills,  in  forest 
depth,  or  by  inland  lakes,  he  found  that  the  Church 
had  been  ahead  of  him  and  had  influenced  the  natives 
in  a  most  remarkable  manner.  He  learned,  too,  that 
these  Indians  were  not  the  ordinary  miserable  creatures 
sometimes  seen  hanging  around  stores  and  railway  sta- 
tions. They  were  the  nobility  of  the  land,  and  having 
once  embraced  the  teaching  of  the  Church,  they  en- 
deavoured to  put  their  belief  into  practice.  More  than 
once  the  words  of  his  bishop  uttered  ten  years  ago  came 
to  his  mind,  and  he  began  to  realise  that  they  were  truer 
than  he  had  imagined. 

Thus  he  fled  from  camp  to  camp,  and  almost  de- 
spaired of  ever  reaching  a  band  of  Indians  untouched 
by  the  Christian  religion.  Hearing  at  length  of  the 


38  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

far-off  Tasko  tribe,  he  set  his  face  toward  Lake  Klutaua 
with  two  friendly  natives,  who  were  bound  thither.  The 
journey  was  a  hard  one,  for  Nance  had  to  be  carried 
every  step  of  the  way.  Since  leaving  the  boats  at  the 
great  river  he  had  at  times  chided  himself  for  his  fool- 
ishness in  bringing  the  child  with  him.  Why  had  he  not 
left  her  at  the  mission  station  where  she  would  have 
been  well  cared  for?  He  thought  of  this  by  day  as  he 
struggled  over  the  cruel  trail  with  the  little  one  in  his 
arms,  and  he  upbraided  himself  at  night  when  she 
awoke  and  cried  piteously  for  her  father  and  mother. 
But  as  a  rule  he  was  glad  that  he  had  her  with  him. 
She  fared  better  than  he  did,  for  at  every  camp  the 
Indian  women  vied  with  one  another  in  caring  for  the 
girl,  who  now  no  longer  feared  their  dusky  faces.  Rut- 
land's love  for  Nance  increased  as  the  days  passed.  The 
severe  task  of  bearing  her  over  long  miles  of  trail  be- 
came at  last  a  joy.  He  was  more  than  repaid  by  her 
prattling  talk,  and  her  gentle,  affectionate  ways.  She 
imagined  that  he  was  taking  her  to  her  parents,  and  her 
guardian  had  not  the  courage  to  tell  her  otherwise. 

By  the  time  Rutland  reached  the  Tasko  encampment 
his  strength  was  almost  gone.  If  these  natives  were 
Christians  he  would  abide  here  for  a  few  days  and  then 
carry  Nance  off  somewhere  into  the  wilderness,  where 
they  would  live  alone,  undisturbed  by  either  Indians 
or  whites.  He  dreaded  the  idea,  however,  of  doing  this, 
for  he  knew  that  it  would  mean  many  hardships  for  a 
time  at  least.  So  now  as  he  sat  quietly  smoking,  he 
was  anxious  to  ascertain  whether  these  people  would 
hold  a  service  such  as  he  had  witnessed  at  other  places. 
As  the  evening  wore  on  he  was  greatly  relieved  when 


BY  THE  MIRRORING  LAKE  39 

the  Indians  began  to  move  away  to  their  various  lodges5-' 
He  now  believed  that  he  was  safe,  and  that  these  na- 
tives were  free  from  all  influence  of  missionary  enter- 
prise. 

At  length  he  picked  up  his  violin  case  which  was 
lying  by  his  side  and  opened  it.  Through  all  the  hard- 
ships of  the  past  weeks  he  had  never  relinquished  this 
companion.  It  had  cheered  him  when  most  depressed, 
and  by  means  of  it  he  had  been  able  to  entertain  and 
please  the  Indians  who  had  been  so  hospitable  to  him. 
As  he  now  tuned  up  the  instrument  and  drew  the  bow 
across  the  strings  a  movement  took  place  in  the  camp.- 
Indians  came  from  all  sides  and  gazed  with  wonder 
upon  the  white  man.  who  was  producing  such  mar- ' 
vellous  sounds.  As  Rutland  continued  to  play  the  na- 
tives squatted  around  him  upon  the  ground.  Their  only 
musical  instrument  was  the  mournful  Indian  drum.  But 
this  was  altogether  different.  On  one  occasion  several 
of  the  men  had  listened  to  the  sound  of  a  violin  at  the 
fur-trading  post,  and  they  had  never  wearied  of  telling 
what  they  had  heard  to  the  rest  of  their  tribe.  They 
Avere  naturally  musical,  these  waifs  of  the  wilderness. 
The  sighing  of  the  breeze,  the  murmur  of  the  stream, 
and  the  roar  of  the  tempest  in  winter,  all  had  their 
meaning.  They  were  sounds  which  soothed  or  roused 
their  wild  nature.  So  as  they  listened  this  night  their 
hearts  became  strangely  affected.  Something  more  than 
ordinary  began  to  stir  within  them.  It  was  the  same 
old  story  being  repeated  here  in  the  northland.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  a  new  life,  new  longings,  and  new 
aspirations.  It  was,  in  short,  the  dawn  of  Art  which 
once  moved  the  hearts  of  the  uncouth  ancestors  of  the 


40  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

most  cultured  races  and  inspired  them  to  higher  things. 
These  Tasko  Indians  knew  nothing  of  the  history  of 
civilisation.  They  felt  only  a  keen  pleasure  as  the  white 
man  played,  and  they  gave  vent  to  an  occasional  "Ah, 
ah, ' '  when  something  appealed  to  them  more  than  usual. 
It  was  late  ere  Rutland  ceased  and  laid  his  violin 
aside.  The  Indians  at  once  dispersed  to  their  lodges, 
and  silence  brooded  over  the  encampment.  The  moon 
rose  big  and  bright  above  the  mountains  and  cast  its 
reflection  down  into  the  depths  of  the  quiet  lake.  Rut- 
land sat  for  a  while  watching  the  superb  scene.  Then 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  went  to  the  lodge  where  Nance 
was  lying.  He  saw  that  she  was  sleeping  comfortably 
and,  bending  over  her,  he  kissed  her  little  white  cheek. 
The  child  moved,  and  the  word  "mamma"  came  sleep- 
ily from  her  lips.  Perhaps  the  mother,  all  unseen, 
was  watching  over  her  little  one — who  knows?  Rut- 
land crept  softly  away  and,  with  his  single  blanket 
wrapped  about  his  body,  was  soon  fast  asleep  upon  the 
hard  ground. 


CHAPTER   V 

A  CABIN  FOR  TWO 

IN  a  few  days  Martin's  strength  was  much,  renewed. 
The  Indians  treated  him  with  great  kindness,  and 
the  women  were  never  weary  of  caring  for  the  little 
white  child.  "With  hooks  supplied  him  by  the  natives, 
Martin  succeeded  in  catching  a  number  of  fine  salmon 
in  the  lake,  and  these  formed  excellent  food.  He  looked 
forward  also  to  the  hunting  of  moose  and  mountain- 
sheep,  for  he  had  brought  with  him  a  good  rifle  and  a 
number  of  cartridges.  His  spirits  naturally  rose  as  the 
days  passed.  To  him  the  life  was  ideal.  There  was  a 
freedom  from  care,  and  with  Nance  by  his  side  he  often 
wandered  for  hours  along  the  shore  of  the  lake.  The 
child  thoroughly  enjoyed  these  rambles,  and  many  were 
the  questions  she  asked  as  well  as  making  quaint  remarks 
about  the  numerous  things  she  saw. 

Martin  soon  realised  that  it  would  not  do  to  remain 
idle  for  any  length  of  time.  The  cool  nights  warned 
him  that  summer  was  passing,  and  unless  he  had  a  shel- 
ter for  the  winter  their  position  would  be  a  sorry  one. 
Such  lodges  as  the  Indians  used  would  be  unbearable 
to  them  when  frost  sealed  the  streams  and  storms  swept 
howling  over  the  land.  He  accordingly  searched  around 
for  a  suitable  place  to  build  a  cabin,  and  at  length  set- 
tled upon  a  beautiful  spot  near  the  mouth  of  the  Quaska 

41 


42  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

River,  where  trees  stood  in  abundance  suitable  for  his 
purpose. 

With  an  axe,  borrowed  from  an  Indian,  he  one  day 
set  earnestly  to  work.  Martin  had  been  brought  up  on 
a  farm,  and  was  well  accustomed  to  the  use  of  the  axe. 
During  the  years  of  his  wandering  life  he  had  been 
forced  at  times  to  toil  as  a  labourer  to  earn  his  daily 
bread.  He  now  put  his  heart  into  his  task  and  worked 
with  a  will  such  as  he  had  not  known  for  years.  He  had 
to  ask  no  one  for  the  use  of  the  land,  and  the  trees  were 
standing  ready  for  him  to  cut.  As  he  cleared  the  ground 
upon  a  gentle  elevation  several  rods  back  from  the  river, 
he  would  stand  at  times  and  look  out  over  the  lake.  The 
thrill  of  ownership  possessed  his  soul,  and  he  felt  that  he 
would  not  exchange  his  lot  for  the  most  favoured  being 
on  earth.  Every  day  Nance  accompanied  him  and 
played  among  the  trees  and  branches.  He  built  her  a 
little  playhouse,  and  sometimes  he  would  sit  by  her  side 
to  rest,  play  with  her,  or  tell  some  story  to  delight  the 
child's  heart. 

The  cabin  Martin  planned  to  build  was  not  a  large 
one.  It  was  only  for  two,  he  told  himself,  but  it  must  be 
as  cosy  as  his  hands  could  make  it.  There  were  to  be 
two  rooms;  one  where  they  would  live  and  the  other 
where  provisions  would  be  stored. 

After  the  foundation  had  been  laid  Martin  began  to 
carry  stones  from  the  river  and  the  shore  of  the  lake. 
With  these  he  constructed  a  fire-place  at  one  end  of  the 
building.  This  was  a  work  of  considerable  importance, 
and  occupied  him  for  several  weeks.  The  stones  had 
to  be  broken,  shaped,  and  then  laid  carefully  together 
with  clay,  which  he  found  by  digging  along  the  shore 


A  CABIN  FOR  TWO  43 

of  the  lake.  This,  when  hardened,  was  almost  like 
cement,  and  served  his  purpose  better  than  the  ordinary 
mortar. 

When  the  fire-place  was  completed,  and  tapered  off 
into  a  capacious  chimney,  he  set  to  work  upon  the  walls 
of  the  cabin.  Logs,  hewn  on  three  sides,  were  laid  one 
upon  another,  and  fitted  closely  together.  Then  came 
the  roof,  composed  of  long  poles,  covered  with  mud  and 
turf.  Moss  was  used  for  the  chinking  of  the  walls,  and 
to  obtain  this  Martin  and  Nance  went  every  day  to  a 
swamp  a  short  distance  back  from  the  river,  until  a 
sufficient  supply  was  gathered. 

By  the  time  this  work  was  completed  the  days  were 
much  shorter.  Martin  was  anxious  to  occupy  his  cabin 
as  soon  as  possible,  for  he  was  afraid  that  the  cold  nights 
in  the  Indian  lodge  might  not  be  good  for  Nance.  With 
much  difficulty  he  fashioned  a  door.  It  was  a  marvellous 
contrivance  when  finished,  and  Martin  was  quite  proud 
of  his  handiwork.  He  had  no  glass  for  windows,  and 
so  was  forced  to  use  the  skins  of  mountain-sheep,  with 
the  hair  removed  and  scraped  very  thin.  These, 
stretched  across  the  openings,  let  in  considerable  light 
during  the  day,  and  kept  out  the  wind  and  cold  as  well. 
The  floor  was  made  of  logs,  hewn  as  smooth  as  the  axe 
could  make  them.  The  living  room  was  only  eighteen 
feet  long  by  twelve  wide,  which  could  easily  be  heated, 
and  quite  large  enough  for  two. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Martin  possessed  a  house 
entirely  his  own,  and"  which  he  had  built  with  his  own 
hands.  In  days  long  past  he  had  pictured  to  himself  a 
little  home  which  he  and  Beryl  would  occupy.  He  often 
thought  of  those  day-dreams  as  he  toiled  at  his  cabin. 


44  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

In  fact  she  had  been  much  in  his  mind  since  the  night 
he  had  seen  her  in  the  church  and  listened  to  her  sing- 
ing. Try  as  he  might,  he  could  not  forget  her,  although 
the  remembrance  always  brought  a  bitter  pang  to  hig 
heart  of  what  he  had  forever  lost.  Often  he  would  lie 
awake  at  night  thinking  of  the  days  when  they  were  so 
much  together.  At  times  he  had  an  almost  irresistible 
longing  to  see  her  again.  This,  however,  he  was  forced 
to  banish,  as  he  well  knew  that  such  a  thing  was  im- 
possible. While  busy  at  work  upon  the  cabin  he  had 
no  time  to  brood  over  his  past  life.  He  was  always  so 
tired  at  night  that  he  slept  soundly  until  the  break  of 
day.  He  dreaded  the  thought  of  having  nothing  to  do. 
Action  was  his  one  salvation,  and  he  knew  that  he  must 
be  busy  at  something.  He  would  find  occupation,  so 
he  told  himself,  which  would  keep  his  mind  from  dwell- 
ing upon  the  things  he  wished  to  forget. 

It  was  a  cold  night  when  Martin  lighted  the  fire  and 
brought  Nance  to  the  cabin.  A  fierce  wind  was  howling 
over  the  land,  swaying  the  trees  and  ruffling  the  sur- 
face of  the  lake.  Nance  stood  watching  the  flames  as 
they  licked  up  the  chimney. 

"Pretty,  pretty!"  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands  with 
glee  and  then  stretching  them  out  toward  the  fire. 

' '  Is  Nance  happy  now  ? ' '  Martin  questioned,  watching 
with  interest  the  bright  sparkle  of  her  eyes,  and  the 
fire-light  playing  upon  her  face  and  hair. 

"Yes,  happy,"  the  child  replied.  Then  she  climbed 
upon  his  knee,  and  laid  her  head  against  his  shoulder. 
"When  will  we  go  to  my  papa  and  mamma?"  she  at 
length  asked. 

' '  Not  yet,  Nance, ' '  and  Martin 's  voice  was  low.    ' '  You 


A  CABIN  FOB  TWO  45 

must  stay  with  me  for  a  while.  But  tell  me  about  them, 
little  one,  for  I  never  knew  them. ' ' 

"You  didn't  know  my  daddy  and  mamma!"  and 
Nance  lifted  her  head  and  looked  straight  into  her 
guardian's  eyes.  "Isn't  that  funny,"  and  she  gave  a 
queer  little  chuckle.  "My  daddy  was  big  and  so  strong 
that  he  could  carry  me  everywhere.  He  played  with  me, 
too,  and  we  had  such  fun.  Mamma  used  to  tell  me 
stories,  such  nice  ones,  and  she  always  kissed  me  when. 
I  went  to  bed.  I  wonder  where  she  can  be." 

"Do  you  like  stories,  Nance?"  Martin  asked. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  like  nice  ones  about  fairies.  Mamma 
often  told  me  about  Alice  in  Wonderland.  Do  you  know 
that  ?  It  is  so  pretty.  1 11  get  mamma  to  tell  it  to  you 
some  day." 

A  lump  came  into  Martin's  throat  as  he  listened  to 
the  prattle  of  this  child.  How  could  he  ever  tell  her 
that  she  would  never  see  her  dear  parents  on  earth 
again?  Would  it  not  be  as  well  for  her  to  know  the 
whole  truth  now?  But  no,  it  would  be  better  to  wait 
for  some  time  until  she  was  older.  A  sudden  idea  came 
into  his  mind. 

"Look,  Nance,  suppose  we  play  that  I  am  your  daddy, 
and  that  your  mamma  is  sitting  right  here  by  our  side. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  yes, ' '  Nance  was  ready  for  the  game,  ' '  and  I  '11 
call  you  'daddy,'  and  we'll  talk  to  mamma,  and  make 
believe  that  she 's  right  here. ' ' 

How  often  in  the  past  in  his  old  parish  had  Martin 
pictured  to  himself  a  scene  similar  to  this.  It  had  all 
been  so  real :  an  open  fire,  a  child  on  his  knee,  and  Beryl 
by  his  side.  He  closed  his  eyes,  while  a  sigh  escaped 
his  lips. 


46  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"Daddy."  He  started  at  the  name.  "Are  you 
sleepy?  Why  do  you  do  that?" 

"Do  what?" 

' '  Oh,  this, ' '  and  she  drew  in  her  breath,  and  let  it  out 
again. 

Martin  laughed.  "I  was  just  thinking,  Nance,  that 
was  all." 

"Well,  don't  shut  your  eyes,  and  don't  think,  or 
mamma  will  be  cross,  won't  you,  mamma?"  and  she 
turned  to  an  imaginary  person  nearby. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

' '  Tell  a  story,  and  mamma  and  I  will  listen. ' ' 

"Tell  a  story,  Nance!  What  kind  of  a  one  do  you 
want?" 

"Oh,  a  fairy  story,  about  flowers,  and  birds,  and 
people — a  story  like  mamma  used  to  tell. ' ' 

Martin  sat  for  a  while  without  replying,  watching  the 
fire  dancing  merrily  before  him.  It  was  a  fairy-story 
the  child  wanted,  and  he  could  not  remember  any. 

"Go  on,  daddy,"  Nance  demanded. 

"Yes,  little  one,  I  will.    I'm  only  thinking." 

"Well,  don't  think,"  was  the  imperious  command. 
"Talk." 

"Once  upon  a  time,"  Martin  began,  "there  was  a 
little  boy  who  had  a  beautiful  home." 

"That's  nice."  Nance  sighed,  as  she  nestled  her  head 
back  comfortably  against  the  strong  arm  which  was  sup- 
porting her. 

"And  the  boy,"  Martin  continued,  "had  a  father  and 
a  mother  who  loved  him  very  much.  All  day  long  he 
played  in  the  sunshine,  amongst  the  flowers,  birds,  and 
butterflies.  He  had  a  big  dog,  too,  and  they  were  always 


A  CABIN  FOR  TWO  47 

so  happy  together.  Then  the  boy  grew  to  be  a  man,  and 
he  had  a  garden  all  his  own.  He  had  many  trees  and 
beautiful  flowers  to  look  after,  and  he  loved  them  very 
much,  especially  the  little  baby  flowers.  These  came  to 
him,  and  he  would  talk  to  them,  and  tell  them  what  to 
do  to  make  them  grow  strong  and  beautiful." 

"What!  could  the  flowers  talk?"  Nance  asked  in 
amazement.  "Wasn't  it  funny?" 

"Yes,  those  flowers  could  talk,  and  understood  every- 
thing the  gardener  told  them. ' ' 

"What  is  a  gardener?" 

"Oh,  the  man  who  was  once  a  little  boy." 

"I  see."    Sleepily. 

"Well,  after  a  while  the  gardener  hurt  one  of  his 
flowers. ' ' 

"He  did!"  Nance  was  wide  awake  now.  "Wasn't 
he  bad !  How  did  he  hurt  it  ? " 

"He  just  broke  it  down,  so  it  could  never  stand  up 
again. ' ' 

"Oh!" 

"Yes,  Nance,  that's  what  he  did,  and  he  had  to  leave 
his  garden  and  go  away. ' ' 

"Go  on,"  Nance  demanded  as  Martin  paused. 

"Yes,  he  went  away,  for  such  a  long  time,  and  tried 
to  forget  all  about  his  garden.  Then  in  a  strange  place 
he  saw  one  of  his  most  beautiful  flowers  and  heard  her 
sing." 

' '  What !  can  flowers  sing  ? ' ' 

"This  one  could,  so  beautifully.  But  the  gardener 
did  not  dare  to  speak  to  her.  She  knew  what  he  had 
done,  and  he  was  afraid.  So  he  ran  away  again,  far 
off  into  a  land  of  wilderness. 


48  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

His  heart  was  very  sad  and  lonely.    No  one  loved  him, 
and  everybody  thought  that  he  was  so  bad. ' ' 

"And  wasn't  he,  daddy?  He  must  have  been  bad  or 
he  wouldn  't  have  hurt  the  beautiful  flower. ' ' 

"He  was  very,  very  sorry,  Nance,  and  his  heart  was 
heavy  all  the  time,  but  no  one  knew  that.    Then  one  day 
he  found  another  little  flower.    She  had  fallen  into  the 
water,  but  some  kind  people  saw  her  and  saved  her. 
The  gardener  took  this  lovely  flower  with  him  wherever 
he  went.    He  built  a  little  house  among  the  trees,  where 
they  lived  all  by  themselves,  and  were  so  happy." 
"What  was  her  name,  daddy?" 
"The  gardener  called  her  'Heart's  Ease.'  ' 
' '  Funny — funny — name, ' '  came  low  and  sleepily  from 
the  child. 

Martin  paused,  while  his  thoughts  roamed  back  over 
the  past.  He  sat  thus  for  some  time  holding  Nance,  who 
had  fallen  asleep  in  his  arms.  At  length  he  arose,  laid 
the  child  gently  in  the  little  rough  cot  he  had  prepared 
for  her  with  such  care,  and  wrapped  her  well  up  in  the 
blanket  he  had  obtained  from  an  Indian.  He  stood  for 
a  while  watching  her  by  the  flickering  light  of  the  fire. 
He  then  picked  up  his  violin  and,  seating  himself,  began 
to  play  soft  and  low.  The  wind  roared  and  howled  out- 
side, but  Martin  heeded  it  not.  A  mystic  door  had  noise- 
lessly opened,  and  he  had  passed  through  into  an  en- 
chanted world,  where  the  sorrows,  regrets,  and  cares  of 
earth  were  for  a  time  forgotten. 


CHAPTER   VI 

'TIS  HARD  TO  FORGET 

THE  following  weeks  were  busy  ones  for  Martin. 
Winter  was  fast  closing  in  and  he  had  many 
things  to  attend  to.  First  of  all  it  was  necessary  to  lay 
in  a  sufficient  supply  of  food  to  last  them  until  spring. 
Of  fish  he  had  plenty,  and  these  were  accordingly  cached 
high  up  between  three  large  trees,  safe  from  prowling 
dogs  or  other  animals. 

He  next  turned  his  attention  to  the  hills  and  forest. 
It  was  an  exciting  and  memorable  day  when  he  brought 
down  his  first  moose.  He  was  a  big  fellow,  with  great 
branching  antlers.  Martin,  in  company  with  an  Indian, 
had  come  upon  him  as  he  was  quietly  browsing  in  a  wild 
meadow,  several  miles  back  from  the  lake.  To  Martin  it 
seemed  a  most  contemptible  thing  to  creep  up  and  shoot 
the  unsuspecting  creature.  But  such  a  feeling  had  to  be 
overcome  if  he  and  Nance  were  to  live  through  the 
winter. 

At  the  first  shot  the  moose  gave  a  tremendous  leap 
into  the  air,  and  dropped  upon  his  knees.  In  his  excite- 
ment Martin  rushed  from  cover,  and  exposed  himself  to 
view.  The  wounded  animal  saw  him,  and  in  its  dying 
rage  charged  suddenly  upon  his  assailant.  His  antlers 
were  but  a  few  yards  away  and  in  another  instant  they 

49 


50  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

would  have  hurled  Martin  to  the  earth.  But  again  the 
rifle  spoke,  and  the  monarch  of  the  forest  went  down 
with  a  thundering  crash,  never  to  rise  again. 

Skinning  the  moose,  cutting  it  up,  and  packing  it 
down  to  the  lake  was  a  task  of  considerable  magnitude, 
and  several  days  passed  before  all  was  completed. 

Martin  was  now  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  spirit  of 
the  chase,  and  he  spent  much  of  his  time  in  the  woods. 
Instructed  and  assisted  by  his  Indian  friends,  he  built 
a  long  circular  line  of  traps,  consisting  chiefly  of  snares 
and  dead-falls.  He  soon  came  to  know  the  ways  of  the 
shy  denizens  of  the  forest,  and  took  much  pride  in 
matching  his  skill  against  their  cunning.  At  first  meagre 
success  rewarded  his  labours.  The  lynx,  fox,  martin, 
wolverine,  and  other  animals  for  a  time  gave  a  wide 
berth  to  his  carefully  laid  traps.  But  after  a  while  a 
change  took  place,  and  each  day  he  was  able  to  bear 
home  several  furry  prizes.  These  were  promptly 
skinned,  and  placed  upon  stretchers,  which  the  Indians 
had  taught  him  how  to  make. 

During  Martin's  absence  from  his  cabin  Quabee,  the 
young  Indian  woman,  stayed  with  Nance,  and  they  thus 
became  firm  friends.  But  the  child  would  always  watch 
most  anxiously  for  the  return  of  her  daddy,  as  she  now 
called  him,  and  never  once  did  she  forget  to  ask  him  if 
he  had  found  her  mamma  and  her  ' '  real  daddy. ' ' 

Through  the  evenings,  which  were  now  very  long, 
Martin  worked  upon  the  interior  of  his  house.  With 
considerable  difficulty  he  fashioned  a  table,  and  a  won- 
derful easy-chair.  He  also  constructed  a  couch  to  the 
left  of  the  fire-place.  Upon  this  he  placed  a  liberal 
supply  of  fir  boughs,  over  which  he  spread  a  large  well- 


'TIS  HARD  TO  FORGET  51 

dressed  moose  skin  which  he  had  obtained  from  the  na- 
tives. The  cabin  was  thus  made  fairly  comfortable,  and 
when  lighted  by  the  blazing  fire  it  presented  a  most  cosy 
appearance. 

Martin  was  not  satisfied,  however.  He  longed  for 
more  cooking  utensils,  as  well  as  some  pictures  to  adorn 
the  bare  walls.  He  needed,  too,  different  food  for  Nance. 
Her  principal  diet  consisted  of  meat  and  fish,  and  much 
of  this  was  not  good  for  a  white  child.  Dried  berries, 
and  bulbous  roots,  supplied  by  the  Indians,  afforded  a 
pleasing  change.  These  had  been  procured  during  the 
summer,  and  through  native  skill  had  been  dried  and 
compressed  into  cakes.  Such  delicacies  had  to  be  doled 
out  very  sparingly,  although  the  women  gave  what  they 
could  to  the  little  pale-face  maid  of  whom  they  were 
becoming  very  fond. 

Every  night  Nance  played  upon  the  floor  by  Martin's 
side  with  a  funny  doll  he  had  made  for  her.  She  was 
delighted  with  it,  and  could  never  have  it  out  of  her 
sight  for  any  length  of  time.  The  wilderness  life  agreed 
with  her,  and  living  so  much  in  the  open  her  face  was 
well  browned,  and  her  cheeks  like  twin  roses.  Martin 
was  very  particular  about  her  appearance,  and  as  he 
could  not  always  attend  to  Nance  himself  he  had  in- 
structed Quabee  in  the  art  of  caring  for  a  white  child. 
At  first  the  Indian  woman  was  much  puzzled,  but 
through  patience  she  at  length  learned  what  was  desired 
of  her.  Cleanliness  Martin  insisted  upon,  and  this  was 
something  that  Quabee  could  not  at  first  understand. 

With  much  labour  Martin  had  hewn  a  fair-sized  bath- 
tub out  of  the  butt  of  a  large  pine  tree.  It  had  taken 
him  days  to  perform  this,  but  when  it  was  finished  he 


52  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

was  quite  proud  of  his  accomplishment.  This  was  ac- 
cordingly installed  in  the  cabin,  and  Quabee  soon  learned 
what  it  was  for.  In  this  she  gave  Nance  her  bath  every 
morning  near  the  fire. 

Other  Indians  came  at  times  to  the  cabin,  but  Quabee 
and  her  husband  were  there  every  day.  The  Indian 
woman  was  quick,  intelligent,  and  most  anxious  to  learn 
the  ways  of  the  white  people.  Having  no  children  of 
her  own,  she  placed  her  affection  upon  Nance,  and  the 
idea  of  receiving  pay  for  her  services  never  once  entered 
her  mind.  She  was  a  superior  woman  in  many  ways, 
tall,  straight,  and  comely  in  appearance.  She  was  never 
so  happy  as  when  with  Nance.  She  would  play  with  her, 
and  the  child  soon  began  to  learn  a  number  of  Indian 
words,  while  Quabee  added  daily  to  her  knowledge  of 
the  English  language.  The  Indian  woman  also  made 
neat  little  dresses  of  the  finest  of  dressed  deer-skin  for 
the  white  child,  trimming  the  borders  with  beads,  and 
coloured  fringes.  Little  moccasins  she  made  as  well, 
and  when  Nance  was  fully  attired  in  this  native  costume 
Martin  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  more  beautiful 
sight. 

This  constant  association  with  Nance  and  the  instruc- 
tion she  received  from  Martin  ere  long  exerted  an  in- 
fluence upon  the  Indian  woman.  She  became  somewhat 
neater  in  appearance,  and  she  daily  endeavoured  to  act 
more  like  the  white  people.  She  and  her  husband  were 
greatly  pleased  with  the  log  cabin,  and  they  decided  to 
have  one  just  like  it. 

One  cold  night,  three  weeks  before  Christmas,  Martin 
was  sitting  before  the  fire  lost  in  deep  thought.  Nance 
was  playing  quietly  by  his  side  with  her  much-worn  doll. 


'TIS  HARD  TO  FORGET  53 

On  the  floor  at  his  left  was  a  pile  of  furs,  consisting 
principally  of  fox,  lynx,  wolverine,  and  beaver.  He  had 
counted  them  over  several  times,  and  had  them  all 
marked  down  upon  a  piece  of  bark  of  the  birch  tree. 
His  only  pencil  was  a  small  sharpened  stick,  which  he 
blackened  from  a  dead  coal  lying  upon  the  table. 

Martin  had  never  lost  track  of  the  days  and  months, 
for  one  of  the  few  things  he  had  brought  with  him  into 
the  wilderness  was  a  tiny  calendar.  He  had  carefully 
observed  Sunday,  and  abstained  from  all  unnecessary 
work  on  this  day.  He  told  himself  that  it  was  not  only 
for  his  bodily  welfare  that  he  should  do  so,  but  it  was 
the  divine  command.  It  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
Church,  so  he  reasoned,  and  although  he  had  been  sepa- 
rated from  the  latter,  he  still  believed  that  the  Great 
God  was  his  Father,  and  that  His  Son  had  died  for 
mankind.  He  was  by  no  means  an  unbeliever,  except  in 
his  attitude  toward  the  Church.  In  fact  he  had  always 
been  most  careful  about  Nance  repeating  her  little  prayer 
every  night  at  his  knee,  although  he  himself  had  aban- 
doned the  practice  since  he  had  become  an  outcast. 

With  much  care  he  traced  with  his  rude  pencil  the 
things  he  needed  to  make  the  cabin  more  comfortable, 
as  well  as  the  food  and  clothing  necessary  for  Nance. 
Indian  hunters  were  to  start  in  the  morning  for  the  trad- 
ing post  across  the  mountains,  and  they  would  take  his 
skins,  and  bring  back  the  articles  he  required.  They 
were  not  many  to  be  sure,  but  the  Indians  could  easily 
bring  them  with  their  dog  teams,  and  they  were  quite 
willing  to  do  it  for  their  white  brother. 

A  delighted  chuckle  from  Nance  aroused  him,  causing 
him  to  glance  quickly  in  her  direction. 


54  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"What  is  it,  little  one?"  he  questioned,  as  the  child 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  came  to  his  side. 

"Look,  see!"  she  cried.  "We  are  playing  Santa 
Glaus.  Mamma  is  fixing  up  a  tree  for  me  and  dolly,  oh, 
such  a  pretty  tree. ' ' 

"It  is  a  beauty,"  and  Martin  opened  his  eyes  wide, 
and  stared  hard  at  the  imaginary  tree.  "What  nice 
things  you  have  upon  it. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  no,  there 's  nothing  on  it  yet, ' '  and  the  child  gave 
a  chuckle  of  delight.  "We're  just  fixing  it  up  for  Santa 
Claus.  He 's  coming,  you  know,  and  will  put  such  lovely 
things  on  it. ' ' 

"Do  you  think  that  old  Santa  will  find  you  here?" 
Martin  inquired. 

"He  found  me  last  Christmas,  all  right,  and  brought 
me  such  lovely  things — a  little  woolly  dolly,  and  candy. 
When  will  it  be  Christmas  again?''  and  Nance^climbed 
upon  Martin 's  knee.  The  imaginary  •  tree  was  well 
enough  in  play,  but  it  could  not  take  the  place  of  the 
real  one. 

"Christmas  will  soon  be  here,  Nance.  It  won't  be 
long.  What  would  you  like  Santa  Claus  to  bring  you 
this  year?" 

"Oh,  so  many  things,"  and  the  child  clasped  her 
little  hands  together  as  she  gazed  thoughtfully  into  the 
fire.  "I  want  a  new  dolly,  that  will  shut  her  eyes  and 
go  to  sleep.  I  want  candy — and  something  for  Quabee, 
and  the  little  Indian  children.  And  I  want " 

"And  what?"  Martin  asked  as  she  hesitated. 

"I  want  my  daddy  and  my  mamma.  Oh,  why  don't 
they  come!  Do  you  think  they  will  come  this  Christ- 
mas?" 


'TIS  HARD  TO  FORGET  55 

"Not  this  Christmas,  Nance.  You  must  wait,  and 
some  day  you  will  understand  why  they  cannot  come  to 
you  now.  But  we'll  fix  up  a  tree,  a  little  one,  won't 
we?"  he  suggested  in  order  to  divert  her  attention. 
''We'll  find  a  nice  one  and  put  it  right  by  your  bed,  and 
we'll  play  that  your  daddy  and  mamma  are  here." 

' '  Oh,  yes, ' '  and  Nance  clapped  her  hands  with  delight. 
"And  we'll  let  the  Indian  children  see  it,  won't  we? 
Oh,  that  will  be  lovely !" 

After  Nance  had  been  tucked  into  bed,  and  was  fast 
asleep,  Martin  picked  up  another  strip  of  birch  bark, 
and  scrawled  a  note  to  the  trader  at  Fort  0'  Rest. 
"They  may  have  something  suitable  for  a  child,"  he 
mused,  as  he  gazed  thoughtfully  upon  what  he  had  writ- 
ten. ' '  Nance  will  be  terribly  disappointed  if  she  doesn  't 
get  something.  They  will  have  sugar,  at  least,  and  that 
will  be  better  than  nothing. ' ' 

As  Christmas  approached  Martin  became  uneasy. 
The  tree  had  been  found,  and  was  standing  at  the  foot 
of  Nance's  cot.  Every  day  he  expected  the  arrival  of 
the  Indians  from  the  fort,  bringing  with  them  the  long- 
looked-for  supplies  and  presents.  They  were  much  later 
than  usual,  so  Quabee  informed  him,  as  it  generally  took 
them  twelve  sleeps  to  go  and  return. 

The  day  before  Christmas  Martin's  anxiety  increased. 
Nance  talked  almost  incessantly  about  what  Santa  Glaus 
would  bring  her,  and  asked  all  kinds  of  questions.  Mar- 
tin went  often  to  the  door,  and  looked  far  off  towards 
the  woods  whither  the  trail  led,  hoping  to  hear  the  jingle 
of  bells,  the  shouts  of  the  Indians,  and  the  joyful  yelps 
of  the  dogs.  But  no  sound  could  he  hear.  The  great 
forest,  silent  and  grim,  revealed  nothing  to  the  anxious 


56  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

watcher.  When  night,  cold  and  dreary,  shut  down  Mar- 
tin's  last  hope  vanished.  He  now  no  longer  expected 
the  return  of  the  Indians.  It  was  with  a  heavy  heart 
that  he  played  with  Nance,  told  her  several  stories  about 
Santa  Glaus,  and  the  Christmas  trees  he  had  when  he 
was  a  little  boy. 

"And  just  think!"  the  child  exclaimed  with  delight, 
"when  I  wake  in  the  morning  there  will  be  such  nice 
things  upon  my  tree. ' ' 

Martin  did  not  reply ;  how  could  he  ?  He  merely  held 
her  close,  and  stared  straight  before  him  into  the  fire. 
He  pictured  her  bitter  disappointment  when  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  found  the  tree  as  bare  as  it  was  the  night 
before.  What  could  he  say  to  her,  and  how  would  he  be 
able  to  soothe  her  sorrow  ?  When  at  last  she  was  snugly 
tucked  into  her  little  cot  she  put  her  arms  around  Mar- 
tin's neck,  and  gave  him  a  good-night  kiss. 

"Be  sure  and  call  me  early  in  the  morning,  daddy," 
she  said.  ' '  And  you  '11  help  me  take  my  presents  off  the 
tree,  won 't  you  ?  Oh,  I  'm  so  happy ! ' ' 

Holding  fast  to  her  queer  battered  doll,  she  was  soon 
in  slumber  deep.  Martin  stood  watching  her  sweet 
chubby  face  lying  on  the  rough  pillow,  and  in  spite  of 
himself  tears  came  into  his  eyes.  He  threw  himself 
upon  the  chair  before  the  fire.  If  anyone  had  told  him 
one  year  ago  that  a  mere  child  could  so  capture  his  heart 
and  weave  such  a  wonderful  spell  about  him  he  would 
have  scorned  the  idea.  But  now  that  little  being  lying 
there  was  far  dearer  to  him  than  life,  and  to  think  that 
such  a  sorrow  should  come  to  her  in  the  morning ! 

Time  and  time  again  he  replenished  the  fire  from  a 
liberal  supply  of  wood  in  the  corner.  He  felt  that  it 


'TIS  HARD  TO  FORGET  57 

would  be  useless  to  go  to  bed,  for  he  knew  that  he  could 
not  sleep.  How  long  he  sat  thus  he  could  not  tell,  but 
he  was  at  length  aroused  by  the  faint  jingle  of  bells, 
and  a  noise  outside.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  listened 
eagerly.  Yes,  it  must  be  the  Indians !  Hurrying  to  the 
'  door,  he  threw  it  open,  and  peered  forth.  There  before 
him  were  the  forms  of  men  and  dogs.  The  former  were 
busily  unfastening  something  from  their  sleds.  His 
greetings  to  the  natives  were  answered  by  several  grunts. 
They  were  too  anxious  to  get  to  their  own  lodges  to 
waste  any  time  in  talk  just  now.  Presently  several  par- 
cels were  handed  to  him,  and  Martin  was  much  surprised 
at  their  number.  He  placed  them  upon  the  floor,  and 
when  the  Indians  had  departed  he  closed  the  door,  and 
carried  the  bundles  over  to  the  fire. 

With  much  satisfaction  Martin  now  examined  each 
parcel.  Yes,  there  was  everything  he  had  ordered — rice, 
sugar,  beans,  tea,  tobacco,  pencils,  paper,  and  several 
other  things.  Then  his  face  grew  grave,  for  he  could  not 
find  the  presents  he  had  ordered  for  Nance.  With  a 
sinking  heart  he  placed  the  goods  against  the  wall,  and 
was  standing  looking  down  upon  them  when  a  noise  was 
heard  at  the  door.  It  opened,  and  an  Indian  stepped 
into  the  room.  He  was  carrying  a  parcel  in  his  hands. 

"Injun  no  savvey,"  he  quietly  remarked.  "Injun  all 
sam'  lose  'um.  Saying  which  he  held  forth  the  bundle, 
'and,  turning,  left  the  building. 

Martin  seized  the  parcel,  and  hastily  tore  off  the 
paper  wrapping.  Then  he  gave  vent  to  an  exclamation 
of  joy,  for  lying  before  him  were  the  presents  for  Nance. 
He  did  not  touch  them  at  first,  but  crossing  the  room 
stood  for  a  while  gazing  upon  the  sleeping  child.  A 


58  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

new  feeling  now  possessed  his  heart,  and  he  was  anxious 
for  morning  to  come  that  he  might  watch  the  joy  in  her 
sparkling  eyes. 

Going  back  to  the  presents,  he  examined  them,  and 
was  greatly  surprised  at  the  number.  He  had  no  idea 
before  that  they  kept  so  many  things  at  the  trading- 
post.  There  were  several  picture-books  as  well,  and 
such  a  pretty  little  dress,  and  candy  in  coloured  bags, 
all  neatly  made. 

As  he  turned  the  various  things  over  a  piece  of  paper 
caught  his  eye.  Picking  it  up,  he  read  the  words  written 
thereon.  As  he  did  so  his  face  grew  dark,  and  the  light 
of  joy  died  out  of  his  eyes.  It  was  from  the  trader  at 
Fort  0 '  Rest.  He  did  not  keep  toys,  so  he  wrote,  but  a 
mission  post  had  been  established  there  the  previous 
summer,  and  he  had  shown  the  missionary  and  his  wife 
the  birch-bark  letter.  They  accordingly  became  much 
interested  in  the  little  girl  away  in  the  wilderness,  and 
had  made  up  the  parcel  of  presents  for  her. 

This  was  the  substance  of  the  letter,  and  every  word 
burnt  itself  into  Martin's  soul.  He  sank  into  his  chair, 
holding  the  pape"r  in  his  hand,  which  trembled  from  the 
vehemence  of  his  emotion.  So  these  presents  were  the 
gift  of  the  Church.  He  knew  very  well  that  they  had 
been  sent  in  a  bale  to  the  mission  by  some  society  of  the 
Church  to  which  he  had  once  belonged.  The  words  of 
his  old  bishop  flashed  into  his  mind :  "Do  you  imagine 
that  you  can  cut  yourself  off  from  the  influence  of  the 
Church  of  your  childhood  ?  I  tell  you  that  you  are  mis- 
taken, for  such  a  thing  is  utterly  impossible.  The 
Church  and  her  influence  will  follow  you  to  the  grave 
no  matter  to  what  part  of  the  world  you  go."  Martin 


'TIS  HARD  TO  FORGET  59 

groaned  as  he  realised  how  true  were  these  words.  H« 
had  laughed  at  them  when  first  spoken,  fool  that  he  was. 
How  little  he  knew  and  understood  the  power  of  the 
Church. 

He  rose  abruptly  to  his  feet.  He  seized  several  of  the 
presents  in  his  hands  and  carried  them  to  the  fire.  He 
would  not  take  them  from  the  Church,  no,  not  for  the 
sake  of  the  child  he  loved.  He  could  endure  her  sorrow 
rather  than  the  bitter  remorse  which  was  sure  to  follow 
him. 

As  he  stood  there,  hesitating  for  an  instant,  Nance 
stirred  in  her  sleep.  "Daddy,  Santa  Glaus,"  she  mur- 
mured. That  was  all,  but  it  was  enough  to  cause  Mar- 
tin to  draw  back.  The  perspiration  stood  in  beads  upon 
his  forehead,  not  caused  by  the  fire  alone.  He  paced 
rapidly  up  and  down  the  room,  pausing  at  times  to  look 
upon  the  child.  It  was  a  stern  battle  he  was  fighting. 
How  could  he  accept  those  presents  from  the  Church? 
And  yet  how  could  he  disappoint  Nance?  He  wavered 
to  and  fro.  It  was  his  own  battle,  and  there  was  no 
one  to  help  him.  He  went  to  the  door,  and  looked  out. 
He  knew  that  it  was  past  midnight  by  the  position  of 
the  stars.  All  was  still  and  cold.  The  sharp  air  cooled 
his  hot  face,  and  somewhat  calmed  his  excited  mind. 
He  closed  the  door  and  sat  down.  It  was  Christmas 
morning,  the  day  which  had  always  brought  such  a 
peace  into  his  soul  until  his  fall.  He  thought  of  it  now 
and  of  the  days  of  youth  when  he  had  gone  with  his 
parents  to  the  little  parish  church.  He  saw  the  choir 
singing  the  familiar  words  of  ' '  Hark !  the  Herald  Angels 
Sing, "  and  ' '  0  Come,  All  Ye  Faithful. ' '  He  knew  that 
in  a  few  hours  they  would  be  singing  them  again  in  the 


60  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

same  parish  from  which  he  had  been  driven  out.  Try 
as  he  might  he  could  not  banish  the  vision  of  the  past 
which  came  to  him  this  night.  A  spirit  of  peace  seemed 
suddenly  to  surround  him,  while  the  old  feeling  of  bit- 
terness and  animosity  was  for  a  time  forgotten.  He 
could  not  explain  it,  neither  did  he  try  to  do  so. 

How  long  he  remained  there  he  could  not  tell. 
"Whether  he  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  all  the  things  he 
saw  he  did  not  know.  But  when  he  at  length  aroused 
himself  the  fire  was  burning  low,  and  the  dawn  of  a 
new  Christmas  day  was  stealing  over  the  land.  He 
threw  several  sticks  upon  the  fire,  and  then,  picking  up 
the  presents,  he  hung  them  all  upon  the  tree.  The  strife 
for  the  present  was  over.  Nance  would  be  happy  when 
she  awoke,  and  that  was  all-sufficient. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE   CEASELESS     THROB 

AFTER  the  Christmas  excitement  life  settled  down 
to  a  quiet  monotony  in  the  little  cabin  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Quaska  River.  Nance  played  day  after 
day  with  her  doll  and  other  toys,  and  never  seemed  to 
grow  weary  of  them.  Martin  visited  his  traps  each  day, 
and  during  the  long  evenings  remained  at  home.  There 
was  no  work  he  could  do  upon  the  interior  of  the  build- 
ing, so  he  had  very  little  to  occupy  his  time.  Nance 
always  went  to  bed  early,  after  she  had  several  stories 
told  to  her.  Silence  then  brooded  over  the  place,  broken 
only  by  the  crackling  of  the  fire  and  the  sound  of  the 
violin,  upon  which  Martin  would  play  when  the  mood 
was  upon  him.  There  was  nothing  else  for  him  to  do 
but  sit  and  smoke,  alone  with  his  own  thoughts. 

For  a  while  he  was  contented  with  this  quietness  and 
solitude.  But  Martin  was  a  man,  not  a  beast  of  the  pen, 
and  he  possessed  something  besides  a  mere  body.  There 
was  a  power  within  him  which  refused  to  be  still.  It 
was  ever  active,  like  the  ceaseless  throb  of  the  engine 
concealed  within  the  ship.  He  had  known  other  things. 
He  knew  what  it  was  to  study,  to  think,  and  to  aspire. 
His  training  had  made  him  so,  and  he  could  not  endur« 
a  life  of  inactivity. 

61 


62  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

For  the  first  time  since  entering  the  wilderness  an 
insatiable  longing  came  upon  him  for  books,  or  reading 
matter  of  some  kind.  He  thought  of  his  well-filled 
shelves  in  his  old  parish.  "What  a  pride  he  had  taken 
in  his  library,  and  what  joy  had  always  been  his  when  he 
could  be  alone  for  a  while  with  his  favourite  authors. 
But  now  he  had  nothing,  not  even  a  scrap  of  a  news- 
paper. He  looked  around  the  barren  room,  and  a 
tremor  shook  his  body  as  he  realised  what  little  chance 
there  was  of  ever  having  those  rude  walls  adorned  with 
books.  And  what  an  opportunity  for  reading,  he  mused, 
by  the  bright  light  of  the  open  fire. 

He  was  thinking  thus  one  evening  when  the  door 
softly  opened  and  Taku  and  Quabee  glided  into  the 
room,  and  squatted  upon  the  floor  to  his  left.  Martin 
was  pleased  that  they  had  come,  as  he  was  beginning  to 
be  quite  fond  of  these  two  well-behaved  natives.  The 
only  difficulty  he  had  was  in  talking  with  them.  He  did 
not  understand  their  language,  while  their  knowledge 
of  the  English  tongue  was  most  meagre.  Otherwise 
they  would  have  proven  most  congenial  company. 

By  their  manner  he  knew  that  they  had  come  for 
some  special  purpose,  for  they  were  unusually  silent, 
and  sat  for  a  time  without  saying  a  word.  Martin  of- 
fered Taku  a  plug  of  tobacco,  which  the  latter  took, 
filled  his  pipe,  and  then  handed  it  over  to  his  wife. 
Soon  large  volumes  of  smoke  were  filling  the  room, 
while  expressions  of  satisfaction  rested  upon  the  faces 
of  the  visitors. 

' '  Good ! ' '  Taku  ejaculated,  looking  at  Martin.  ' '  Find 
squaw,  eh?"  and  he  motioned  towards  Quabee. 

Martin  nodded. 


THE  CEASELESS  THROB  63 

"You  teach  'um  all  sam'  white  man,  eh?"  Taku  con- 
tinued. 

' '  What 's  that  ? ' '  Martin  inquired.    ' '  Me  no  savvey. ' ' 

"You  mak'  'um  spik  all  sam'  white  man?" 

"Oh,  I  see.  You  want  to  speak  white  man's  tongue? 
you  want  to  talk  as  I  do?" 

"Ah,  ah,  all  sam'." 

' '  Maybe  so, ' '  was  the  slow  reply.  "  I  '11  think  it  over. 
You  come  in  the  morning. ' ' 

"You  mak'  Injun  sling,  eh?" 

"Do  what?" 

"Sling,  all  sam'  dis,"  and  Taku  began  to  hum  the  air 
of  a  tune  he  had  learned. 

"Where  did  you  hear  that?"  Martin  asked  somewhat 
sharply. 

"At  post.  White  squaw  mak'  beeg  box  sling  all  sam' 
dis,"  and  the  Indian  tapped  upon  the  floor  with  his 
fingers,  imitating  some  one  playing  an  organ. 

"And  did  she  sing,  too?"  Martin  questioned. 

"Ah,  ah." 

"And  you  savvey  it,  eh?" 

"Ah,  ah.  Me  sling  all  sam'  white  squaw.  Me  no 
savvey  talk,"  and  he  shook  his  head  in  a  disconsolate 
manner. 

' '  You  want  to  savvey  the  words,  do  you  ? ' ' 

"Ah,  ah." 

"Well,  then,  I  shall  think  about  it.  You  come  to  me 
in  the  morning.  Savvey?" 

"Ah,  ah.    Me  savvey." 

When  the  Indians  had  departed  Martin  sat  for  a  long 
time  in  deep  meditation.  An  uneasy  feeling  possessed 
him.  He  knew  very  well  now  that  the  hunters  who  had 


64  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

gone  to  the  post  for  supplies  had  come  in  contact  with 
the  missionaries  there,  and  had  attended  service.  They 
would  go  back  again,  and  each  time  they  would  hear  and 
learn  more  about  the  teaching  of  the  Church.  Soon  they 
would  hold  service  among  themselves,  and  sing  the, 
hymns  as  well. 

Presently  an  idea  flashed  into  his  mind,  which  some- 
what startled  him.  It  was  not  unlikely  that  the  mission- 
ary, knowing  of  these  Indians,  would  visit  them  from 
time  to  time  and  hold  service  among  them.  Again  the 
bishop's  warning  came  to  him.  He  was  surely  learning 
now  how  true  were  those  words.  He  paced  rapidly  up 
and  down  the  room.  What  should  he  do?  Must  he 
leave  this  place,  and  the  cabin  upon  which  he  had  ex- 
pended so  much  labour,  and  depart  ?  If  he  did  so  where 
could  he  go  from  the  influence  of  the  Church  ? 

A  sudden  thought  stabbed  his  mind,  which  caused  him 
to  pause  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Why  had  not  the 
idea  come  to  him  before  ?  he  asked  himself.  He  crossed 
at  once  to  the  chair  he  had  recently  left,  and  sat  down. 
He  wished  to  think  it  all  out  very  carefully.  The  Church 
had  cast  him  off,  and  he  had  fled  from  its  influence.  He 
had  been  always  on  the  defensive.  Why  not  change  his 
position  and  assume  the  aggressive?  The  Church  was 
nothing  to  him  now  except  the  great  disturber  of  his 
peace  of  mind.  Although  he  was  only  one,  yet  why 
should  he  not  show  that  he  could  retaliate?  Why  run 
away  like  a  cur  ?  Would  it  not  be  better  for  him  to  use 
his  influence  and  oppose  the  onward  march  of  the 
Church  into  the  valley  of  the  Quaska  ?  He  would  teach 
the  Indians  the  English  language,  and  when  they  could 
understand  him  intelligently  he  would  speak  to  them 


THE  CEASELESS  THEOB  65 

about  the  Church,  and  it  would  not  be  to  its  advantage, 
either. 

The  conclusion  Martin  arrived  at  this  night  did  not 
trouble  him  in  the  least.  He  believed  that  he  was  justi- 
fied in  the  course  he  was  about  to  pursue.  He  wondered 
why  he  had  not  done  this  before.  More  than  once  the. 
idea  came  to  his  mind  that  he  would  like  to  go  back  to 
the  ways  of  civilisation  and  expose  the  Church.  He 
knew  many  things  about  it  which  were  not  generally 
known,  for  he  had  been  within  the  inner  circle.  He  had 
seen  much  sham,  hypocrisy,  and  even  downright  sin  in 
the  fold.  He  could  tell  of  the  strife,  and  division  which 
often  existed;  of  the  incessant  struggle  for  high  posi- 
tions ;  of  the  jealousy  and  envy  which  were  so  common. 
Oh,  yes,  he  would  unfold  a  tale  which  would  startle  the 
world.  He  thought  of  all  these  things  as  he  lay  that 
night  in  his  bunk.  Not  once  did  there  come  to  him  a 
realisation  of  his  own  misdeeds,  but  only  those  of  others. 

Early  in  the  morning  Taku  and  Quabee  came  to  the 
cabin,  bringing  with  them  so  many  other  Indians  that 
the  room  could  hardly  hold  them  all.  Martin  looked 
upon  them  with  something  akin  to  despair,  although  he 
determined  to  do  the  best  he  could  to  instruct  them.  He 
chose  the  simplest  words  at  first,  using  the  common 
articles  with  which  they  were  familiar  as  illustrations. 
The  natives  were  most  anxious  to  learn,  and  repeated  the 
words  over  and  over  again  with  remarkable  patience. 
Time  was  nothing  to  them,  and  in  fact  they  would  have 
remained  all  day  if  Martin  had  been  willing  to  instruct 
them.  But  a  lesson  of  two  hours  was  all  that  he  could 
endure,  especially  as  the  atmosphere  in  the  room  had 
become  almost  unbearable.  When  he  stopped,  and  sig- 


66  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

nified  that  there  would  be  no  more  teaching  that  day  his 
scholars  made  no  movement  to  depart.  They  remained 
squatted  upon  the  floor  with  an  expression  of  expecta- 
tion upon  their  faces,  which  Martin  could  not  under- 
stand. 

At  length  Taku  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  and  stood  be- 
fore the  white  man. 

"Injun  wait,"  he  began.  "Injun  lak'  sling  all  sam' 
white  squaw,"  and  he  jerked  his  thumb  toward  the  east. 

These  words  were  received  with  much  approval  by  the 
assembled  natives.  Martin  well  understood  what  they 
meant,  and  his  heart  beat  rapidly.  What  should  he  do  ? 
Should  he  teach  these  Indians  to  sing  the  hymns  of  the 
Church  which  had  cast  him  out,  or  should  he  poison 
their  minds  by  telling  them  that  such  things  were  all 
nonsense  ?  The  Indians  were  observing  him  closely,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  they  were  watching  the  struggle  which 
was  going  on  in  his  mind.  Their  eyes  appeared  to  re- 
proach him,  and  for  relief  he  lifted  the  violin  from  its 
case,  and  began  to  tune  up  the  instrument. 

"While  he  thus  stood  in  the  valley  of  decision  Martin 
glanced  towards  Nance,  sitting  quietly  by  Quabee  's  side. 
Her  sweet  innocent  face  was  turned  towards  him,  and 
her  bright  eyes  were  following  his  every  movement.  He 
glanced  towards  the  expectant  natives.  They  were 
Nance's  companions,  and  would  be  for  years  to  come. 
Suppose  he  denied  them  their  request  now,  and  turned 
their  minds  against  religious  teaching,  what  would  be 
the  outcome  ?  "What  had  he  to  offer  them  instead  ?  By 
influencing  them  for  good  it  would  be  a  benefit  to  Nance 
as  well. 

His  hands  trembled  as  he  continued  to  thrum  upon 


THE  CEASELESS  THROB  67 

the  strings.  How  could  he  turn  against  the  Church? 
He  thought  of  his  parents,  and  remembered  what  noble 
lives  they  had  led,  and  the  peace  and  comfort  they  had 
received  through  that  very  Church  which  he  was  now  on 
the  verge  of  opposing.  Then  his  mind  flashed  to  Beryl. 
Beryl !  What  a  vision  rose  before  him.  How  could  he 
deny  the  Church  of  which  she  was  such  a  devoted  mem- 
ber ?  "What  did  all  the  sham  and  pretence  amount  to  in 
comparison  with  her!  A  Church  which  could  produce 
such  characters  as  his  parents  and  Beryl,  how  could  he 
fight  against  it  ? 

By  this  time  the  Indians  were  becoming  restless.  They 
were  talking  among  themselves,  and  although  Martin 
could  not  understand  what  they  were  saying,  it  was  not 
hard  for  him  to  detect  a  distinct  note  of  anger.  This 
brought  him  to  himself,  and  put  an  end  to  his  indecision. 
He  thought  of  the  Bishop 's  words,  and  a  scornful  laugh 
broke  from  his  lips,  as  he  rose  from  the  stool  on  which, 
he  had  been  sitting,  and  laid  the  violin  upon  the  table. 
What  a  fool  he  had  been,  he  told  himself,  for  having 
wavered  even  for  an  instant.  Why  should  he  teach  these 
natives  the  hymns  of  the  Church?  If  he  began  now 
there  would  be  no  end.  They  would  come  every  day, 
demanding  more.  No,  it  should  not  be.  It  was  far  bet- 
ter not  to  begin,  no  matter  how  angry  the  Indiana 
might  be. 

When  the  natives  understood  that  the  white  man 
would  not  play  for  them,  and  that  the  instructions  for 
the  day  were  ended,  they  departed  surly  and  dejected. 
But  Martin  did  not  care  what  they  said  or  thought.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  oppose  the  Church,  and  he  was 
not  to  be  turned  aside  any  more.  Twice,  at  least,  during 


68  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

the  past  year  he  had  been  weak,  and  had  given  way,  but 
it  must  never  happen  again. 

That  night  after  the  simple  supper  was  over,  the  few 
dishes  washed  and  put  away,  Nance  climbed  upon  Mar- 
tin's knee. 

"Tell  me  about  the  beautiful  flower,  please,"  she 
pleaded,  laying  her  head  contentedly  against  his 
shoulder. 

' '  What  flower,  dear  ?    Heart 's  Ease  ? ' ' 

"No,  not  that  one  now.  The  other  one,  you  know, 
which  could  sing  so  lovely." 

* '  Oh ! ' '  Martin  caught  his  breath.  He  was  surprised 
that  Nance  should  make  such  a  request  when  he  had  been 
thinking  so  much  about  Beryl  all  through  the  day. 

"Why  do  you  wish  to  hear  about  her,  little  one?"  he 
asked  after  a  pause. 

"  'Cause  I  like  her.  I  think  about  her  so  much,  and 
how  pretty  she  must  be. ' ' 

"Yes,  she  is  pretty,  Nance,  and  so  very,  very  good." 

"What's  her  name,  daddy?" 

"Beryl." 

' '  Oh,  isn  't  that  a  funny  name  for  a  flower ! ' ' 

"It  is.    But  you  see  this  flower  is  a  woman." 

"A  woman!"  Nance  sat  up  straight,  and  looked  full 
into  Martin's  face.  "I'm  so  glad.  It's  much  nicer  than 
being  just  a  flower.  You  called  her  that  in  play,  didn't 
you?" 

"Yes,  Nance,  just  in  play." 

* '  And  is  she  a  really  real  woman  ? ' ' 

"A  real  woman,  Nance;  the  most  beautiful  I  ever 
saw." 

"More  beautiful  than  my  own  mamma?" 


THE  CEASELESS  THROB  69 

Martin  started  at  this  unexpected  question.  A  picture 
rose  before  him  of  the  white  face  of  a  dead  woman,  lying 
in  the  Indian  lodge  on  the  bank  of  the  great  river  beyond 
the  mountains.  How  could  he  answer  the  child  ? 

"I  never  knew  your  dear  mamma,  little  one,"  he  at 
length  replied.  "I  never  talked  to  her.  But  I  know 
Beryl,  and  have  heard  her  sing. ' ' 

"Does  she  love  little  girls?" 

"Yes.  She  loves  everything  that  is  good  and  beau- 
tiful." 

' '  Does  she  love  you,  daddy  ? ' ' 

"I — I  am  not  sure,"  Martin  stammered,  while  a  flush 
came  into  his  face.  "I  am  not  beautiful,  neither  am  I 
good." 

"Yes,  you  are,"  and  Nance  twined  her  little  arms 
around  his  neck.  "You  are  so  beautiful  and  good  that 
anybody  would  love  you.  I  do,  anyway. ' ' 

Martin  could  say  no  more.  A  lump  rose  in  his  throat, 
and  a  strange  feeling  took  possession  of  him.  The  sim- 
plicity and  innocent  prattle  of  this  child  were  unnerving 
him.  He  told  her  that  it  was  getting  late,  and  that  she 
must  go  to  bed.  As  he  bent  over  her  and  gave  her  the 
usual  good-night  kiss  she  looked  up  earnestly  into  his 
face. 

"When  I  am  a  big  woman,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  be 
just  like  Beryl.  Do  you  think  I  will,  daddy?" 

"I  trust  so,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "But  go  to  sleep 
now,  and  we'll  talk  about  it  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   DISCOVERY 

THE  more  Martin  considered  the  idea  that  the  mis- 
sionary might  cross  the  mountains  and  visit  the 
Tasko  Indians  the  more  uneasy  he  became.  He  called 
himself  a  coward  and  asked  why  he  should  run  away. 
But  he  well  knew  that  he  could  not  bear  to  meet  the 
missionary.  It  would  be  better  for  him  to  be  on  the 
watch  and  slip  away  with  Nance  somewhere  out  of  sight 
if  necessary.  He  could  come  back  again,  for  the  mis- 
sionary would  not  be  likely  to  make  more  than  one  visit 
a  year  if  he  came  at  all.  Then,  if  the  Indians  became 
Christians,  he  could  remove  to  some  place  farther  away, 
erect  another  cabin,  and  cut  himself  off  entirely  from  all 
contact  with  the  natives. 

In  order,  however,  to  move  around  easily  and  at  will, 
it  was  important  that  he  should  have  a  canoe  of  his  own. 
By  means  of  this  he  could  traverse  the  river  leading 
from  the  lake,  and  explore  the  region  lying  westward. 
He  had  spoken  to  Taku  about  the  country  beyond,  but 
the  Indian  knew  very  little.  It  was  a  land  of  mystery, 
so  he  was  informed.  The  River  Heena,  which  drained 
the  lake,  flowed  on  and  on  until  it  came  to  a  mighty 
river  called  by  the  Indians  the  "Ayan." 

After  careful  consideration,  Martin  determined  to 

70 


THE  DISCOVERY  71 

fashion  a  canoe  out  of  one  of  the  trees  standing  near  the 
shore  of  the  lake.  He  would  need  the  craft,  so  he  toldl 
himself,  for  fishing  purposes,  and  it  would  be  pleasant 
to  take  Nance  out  upon  the  water  on  many  an  enjoyable 
trip. 

As  the  days  were  now  lengthening,  and  the  spirit  of 
spring  was  breathing  over  the  land,  it  was  possible  to 
work  out  of  doors  in  comfort.  Martin  had  met  with 
much  success  in  trapping  during  the  winter,  and  had 
sent  numerous  fine  skins  with  the  Indians  when  they 
had  again  crossed  the  mountains  to  the  trading  post. 
In  addition  to  more  provisions  he  had  been  able  to  obtain 
a  good  new  axe,  which  was  a  great  improvement  upon 
the  poor  one  belonging  to  the  natives.  He  could  now  do 
much  better  work  in  less  time  with  the  axe  the  trader 
had  sent  to  him  from  the  post. 

Instructed  by  Taku,  Martin  chose  a  large  tree  which 
would  suit  his  purpose.  It  was  a  tedious  task,  and 
weeks  glided  speedily  by  as  he  hewed  the  tree  into  the 
desired  shape,  and  dug  out  the  interior.  As  the  work 
progressed  Taku  was  always  on  hand,  and  sometimes 
he  would  bring  his  own  axe  and  hew  away  for  hours. 
He  was  very  particular  about  the  thickness  of  the  shell, 
and  would  often  pause  and  feel  the  sides  to  be  sure  that 
they  were  not  too  thick  or  too  thin. 

At  length  the  day  arrived  when  the  axes  were  laid 
aside.  The  canoe  was  then  filled  with  water,  and  a  fire 
built  all  around  it,  far  enough  away  so  as  to  heat  but  not 
to  scorch  the  wood.  Stones  were  made  red  hot  and 
placed  into  the  craft,  and  these  soon  brought  the  water 
to  the  boiling  point.  This  was  kept  up  for  a  whole  day, 
thus  making  the  wood  of  the  canoe  pliable  and  capable 


72  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

of  expansion.  By  means  of  narrow  strips  of  wood  hewn 
smooth  and  flat  the  canoe  was  expanded  in  the  middle 
to  the  desired  width.  When  the  water  had  been  taken 
out,  and  the  shell  allowed  to  cool,  the  sides  of  the  canoe 
were  thus  rigid  and  curved  in  a  uniform  and  graceful 
fashion.  Martin  was  much  delighted  with  the  craft, 
and  thanked  Taku  most  heartily.  He  was  anxious  now 
for  the  ice  to  break  up  so  he  could  launch  the  canoe,  and 
take  Nance  for  a  spin  upon  the  lake. 

During  the  whole  of  this  time  Nance  stayed  close  by 
Martin.  She  played  among  the  chips,  building  little 
houses  for  her  doll.  Often  she  would  sit  and  watch  the 
canoe  which  was  a  wonderful  thing  in  her  eyes.  "When 
she  was  told  that  it  would  carry  her  over  the  lake  she 
became  much  excited,  and  could  hardly  wait  for  the  ice 
to  disappear.  But  one  morning  when  they  woke  the 
lake  was  clear,  the  ice  having  all  run  out  during  the 
night.  Then  Martin  and  Taku  launched  the  canoe, 
which  floated  gracefully  upon  the  glassy  surface  of  the 
water.  Nance  and  Quabee  sat  in  the  bottom,  while 
Martin  and  Taku  used  the  paddles.  Over  the  lake  they 
sped,  exploring  every  cove,  and  returned  after  a  couple 
of  hours  well  satisfied  with  the  craft. 

That  night  Nance  could  talk  of  nothing  but  the  canoe, 
where  they  would  go,  and  what  they  would  do. 

' '  What  shall  we  call  it,  Nance  ? ' '  Martin  asked.  ' '  We 
haven 't  given  our  canoe  a  name  yet,  you  know. ' ' 

"Let's  call  it  Beryl,"  was  the  reply.  "Won't  that 
be  a  nice  name  ? ' ' 

"Very  well,  little  one,"  Martin  assented.  "It  shall 
be  as  you  say." 

Almost  every  day  after  this  Martin  took  Nance  out 


THE  DISCOVERY  73 

upon  the  water.  The  fishing  was  good,  and  many  were 
the  fine  salmon  they  brought  to  land.  But  when  not 
fishing  Martin  would  paddle  slowly  over  the  lake  far 
away  from  the  cabin.  Often  the  water  was  perfectly 
calm  like  a  huge  mirror,  reflecting  the  trees  and  rocks 
along  the  shore,  as  well  as  the  great  fleecy  clouds  which 
floated  lazily  overhead.  At  such  times  a  complete  silence 
brooded  over  the  lake.  No  discords  from  the  far-off 
throbbing  world  of  commerce  disturbed  the  quiet  scene. 
It  was  as  serene  and  beautiful  as  when  it  came  fresh 
from  the  hand  of  its  Creator.  Here  there  was  no  mad 
rush  for  wealth,  position,  or  fame.  Here  no  huge  in- 
dustries vomited  forth  their  volumes  of  poisonous  smoke, 
nor  crushed  out  the  very  life-blood  of  countless  men, 
women,  and  children.  Here  there  was  abundance  for  all 
in  forest  and  in  stream.  Martin  thought  of  all  this  as 
he  paddled  slowly  over  the  lake.  They  were  happy  hours 
for  him.  Nance  was  near  and  often  he  would  look  upon 
her  with  love  and  pride.  Her  chief  enjoyment  consisted 
in  trailing  one  little  hand  through  the  water  by  the  side 
of  the  canoe.  Often  her  joyous  laugh  would  ring  out 
over  the  silent  reaches,  and  then  she  would  listen  en- 
tranced to  its  echo  far  away  in  the  distance. 

One  bright  afternoon  Martin  turned  the  prow  of  his 
canoe  up  the  Quaska  River.  Hitherto  he  had  not  pad- 
dled up  this  stream  but  had  been  content  to  spend  his 
time  upon  the  lake.  For  some  distance  as  he  advanced 
the  shores  were  lined  with  fir  and  jack-pines  right  to  the 
water's  edge.  At  length  he  came  to  a  large  wild  meadow 
where  the  stream  sulked  along,  and  paddling  was  much 
easier.  Beyond  this  the  trees  were  small  and  straggling, 
showing  evidence  of  fires  which  had  devastated  the  land. 


74  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

The  water  here  was  shallow,  and  at  times  the  canoe 
grated  upon  the  gravel.  Ere  long  he  reached  the  mouth 
of  a  small  stream  flowing  into  the  Quaska.  Here  he  ran 
the  craft  ashore,  and  making  it  fast  to  a  tree  he  took 
Nance  by  the  hand,  and  walked  slowly  up  the  creek.  It 
was  a  quiet  sun-lit  place,  where  cottonwood  trees  and 
jack-pines  lined  the  sloping  hills.  An  Indian  trail  led 
along  the  bank,  and  this  they  followed  for  some  dis- 
tance. Coming  at  last  to  a  fair-sized  tree,  a  patriarch 
among  its  fellows,  they  paused. 

"We'll  have  something  to  eat  now,"  Martin  remarked, 
as  he  seated  himself  upon  the  ground  beneath  the  shade 
of  the  outspreading  branches. 

"Oh,  this  is  nice !"  Nance  sighed,  as  she  took  her  place 
at  his  feet,  and  watched  him  unfold  the  parcel  which 
contained  their  food.  "Wouldn't  it  be  nice  to  stay  here 
all  the  time?" 

"Not  at  night,  Nance,"  and  Martin  laughed.  "It 
would  be  cold  then,  and  there  might  be  bears  around." 

"Would  there?"  and  the  child  drew  closer  to  her 
guardian.  ' '  Will  they  come  here  now,  do  you  think  ? ' ' 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  was  the  reassuring  reply. 
"They'll  not  trouble  us  in  the  day-time." 

Their  repast  was  soon  over,  and  then  Martin  filled  and 
lighted  his  pipe  and  leaned  back  against  the  old  tree. 
Nance  played  close  to  the  water,  and  made  little  mounds 
out  of  the  black  sand  along  the  shore.  Not  a  breath  of 
wind  stirred  the  trees,  and  the  hot  sun  slanting  down 
through  the  forest  caused  the  water  to  gleam  like  bur- 
nished silver.  Birds  flitted  here  and  there,  while  squir- 
rels chased  one  another  along  the  ground,  and  ran  chat- 
tering up  among  the  boughs  overhead. 


THE  DISCOVEEY  75 

Martin's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Nance,  but  his  thoughts 
were  far  away.  Such  a  scene  of  peace  and  quietness 
always  brought  Beryl  to  his  mind.  He  recalled  one  such 
afternoon  when  they  had  wandered  among  the  trees, 
fields,  and  flowers.  Her  bright,  happy  face  rose  before 
him.  He  remembered  her  words  as  they  sat  under  a 
large  tree  to  rest.  "I  often  wonder,"  she  had  said, 
"why  such  happiness  is  mine.  It  seems  almost  too  good 
to  be  true,  and  I  fear  lest  something  may  happen  to 
spoil  it  all. ' '  How  little  did  she  then  know  that  in  less 
than  a  year  her  fairy  castle  would  be  shattered,  and  all 
her  fond  hopes  destroyed.  Martin's  hands  clenched 
hard  as  all  this  came  to  him  now.  He  rose  abruptly 
from  his  reclining  position,  and  moved  to  the  bank  of 
the  stream. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Nance?"  he  asked,  not  knowing 
what  else  to  say. 

"Oh,  just  digging  in  the  sand,  and  making  houses," 
was  the  reply.  ' '  Come  and  help  me,  daddy. ' ' 

In  an  instant  Martin  was  by  her  side,  helping  her  to 
shape  queer  little  mounds  with  the  sand  which  was  so 
fine  and  black.  Presently  he  noticed  little  golden  specks, 
which  gleamed  whenever  a  ray  of  sunshine  touched  them. 
He  examined  them  closely,  and  found  that  where  the 
sand  had  not  been  disturbed  a  thin  layer  of  such  specks 
was  lying  upon  the  surface.  Instinctively  he  knew  that 
it  was  gold,  which  had  been  washed  down  with  the  water 
and  deposited  along  the  shore.  Much  interested,  he  ex- 
amined the  sand  for  several  rods  up  and  down  the 
stream,  and  everywhere  he  found  signs  of  gold. 

He  next  turned  his  attention  to  the  gravel  lying  be- 
neath the  water.  Scooping  up  a  quantity  of  this  with 


76  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

his  hands  he  found  golden  specks  all  through  it  as  well 
as  a  number  of  small  nuggets  each  about  the  size  of  rice. 
This  discovery  caused  his  heart  to  beat  rapidly,  and  he 
sat  down  upon  the  bank  in  order  to  think.  Gold !  Had 
he  made  a  rich  discovery  ?  The  earth  must  be  full  of  it, 
and  perhaps  beneath  his  feet  the  treasure  was  lying 
hidden.  The  glorious  day,  and  the  glamour  of  his  sur- 
roundings appealed  to  him  no  longer.  The  idea  of  the 
great  riches  so  near  possessed  his  mind.  The  whole  val- 
ley stretching  between  the  high  walls  was  his.  It  was 
full  of  gold  beyond  measure. 

Ere  long  another  feeling  came  upon  him.  Suppose  he 
did  get  gold  what  should  he  do  with  it  ?  Gold  was  use- 
ful only  out  in  the  world  of  civilisation.  But  here  it 
was  of  no  more  value  than  the  common  stones  lying  in 
the  river's  bed.  The  Indians  knew  nothing  about  it. 
To  them  the  skins  of  the  animals  roaming  in  the  forest 
were  more  precious  than  heaps  of  the  gleaming  ore.  He 
well  knew  that  if  his  discovery  became  known  beyond 
the  mountains  a  flood  of  miners  would  pour  into  the 
region,  and  instead  of  peace  and  quietness  there  would 
be  the  wild  commotion  of  a  mining  town.  No,  such  a 
thing  should  not  occur.  It  should  be  kept  a  secret.  He 
would  say  nothing  of  his  find  to  the  Indians.  In  fact  if 
they  did  learn  of  it  they  would  not  give  themselves  the 
trouble  of  visiting  the  place,  he  was  sure  of  that. 

When  at  length  he  unfastened  the  canoe,  and  started 
with  Nance  down  to  the  lake,  his  mind  was  so  full  of  the 
discovery  he  had  made  that  he  paid  little  or  no  heed  to 
the  prattle  of  the  child. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   GOLDEN  LURE 

MARTIN  slept  but  little  that  night,  as  his  mind  was 
much  disturbed.  There  were  many  things  to 
think  about  since  his  discovery  of  the  previous  day.  He 
did  not  feel  quite  sure  of  himself  now.  He  had  imag- 
ined that  he  had  severed  all  connection  with  the  outside 
world  and  that  never  again  could  he  endure  the  trammels 
of  conventional  social  life.  He  was  so  satisfied  with  the 
quiet  ways  of  the  wilderness  that  the  awakening  came  as 
a  severe  shock.  It  was  the  gold  which  had  made  the 
change.  He  could  not  enjoy  it  here,  but  out  there  what 
magic  it  would  work.  What  doors  hitherto  closed  would 
instantly  be  opened,  and  great  would  be  his  influence. 
,What  a  surprise  it  would  be  to  the  Church  which  had 
cast  him  off,  he  mused,  when  he  arose  from  seclusion 
and  oblivion,  and  startled  the  world  with  his  vast 
wealth.  A  grim  smile  of  contempt  curled  his  lips  as  he 
pictured  how  the  church  dignitaries,  and  others,  would 
condone  his  past  sin,  and  fawn  upon  him  because  of  his 
money.  How  gratifying  it  would  be  to  hear  the  very 
men  who  had  condemned  him  most  severely  lift  up  their 
roices  in  praise  of  his  contributions  to  the  building  of 
churches  or  charitable  institutions.  And  would  not  the 
newspapers,  which  had  devoted  big  headlines  to  his  fall, 

77 


78  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

be  as  eager  to  laud  him  for  his  munificence?  Then  he 
thought  of  Nance.  How  much  the  gold  would  do  for 
her.  She  would  be  able  to  mingle  with  the  most  select 
people.  He  would  take  her  to  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  wherever  they  went  they  would  gladly  be  received 
because  of  their  riches. 

It  was  little  wonder,  therefore,  that  sleep  would  not 
come  to  Martin  with  such  visions  whirling  through  his 
brain.  He  rose  early,  long  before  Nance  was  awake,  and 
prepared  breakfast.  A  new  spirit  possessed  his  soul. 
He  drank  in  great  draughts  of  the  fresh  morning  air, 
and  he  felt  like  shouting  with  exultation.  He  had  to 
give  vent  to  his  feelings,  and  the  only  way  he  could  do 
so  was  upon  his  violin.  How  he  did  play!  There  was 
a  triumphant  jubilant  note  in  his  music.  The  Indians 
were  surprised  and  startled  to  hear  the  strains  of  the 
violin  at  such  an  early  hour,  while  the  dogs  set  up  loud 
barks  and  howls.  The  natives  tumbled  out  of  their 
lodges  and  hastened  to  the  white  man's  cabin.  They 
gathered  in  front  of  the  building,  and  stood  watching 
Martin  as  he  sat  upon  a  block  before  the  door,  playing 
fast  and  furiously  upon  his  violin.  His  long  beard 
swept  his  breast,  for  he  had  not  touched  a  razor  to  his 
face  since  entering  the  wilderness.  His  chest  was  ex- 
panded, and  his  body  was  drawn  up  rigid  and  erect. 
His  eyes,  which  looked  straight  ahead,  glowed  with  a 
defiant,  victorious  light.  His  moccasined  right  foot  beat 
time  upon  the  ground  to  the  music. 

For  a  while  the  Indians  stood  watching  this  unusual 
sight,  and  then  glided  back  to  their  lodges.  With  almost 
bated  breath  they  discussed  what  they  had  seen  and 
heard.  They  believed  that  the  white  man  was  possessed 


79 

with  some  strange  spirit,  or  why  should  he  look  and  act 
in  such  a  peculiar  manner  ? 

For  some  time  Martin  played  after  the  natives  had 
left,  and  only  ceased  when  Nance  came  out  of  the  house. 
She  looked  at  him  with  astonishment  in  her  eyes,  and 
then  ran  to  him  for  her  customary  morning  kiss.  Mar- 
tin smiled  as  he  laid  aside  the  instrument,  and  turned 
his  attention  to  the  child.  He  felt  much  relieved,  and 
viewed  the  whole  situation  in  a  calmer  and  more  reason- 
able light.  His  dreams  of  wealth  had  been  too  fanciful, 
so  he  told  himself.  Perhaps  he  would  not  find  the  gold 
as  easily  as  he  had  imagined.  There  might  not  be  any 
in  the  valley,  and  what  he  had  seen  might  have  been 
washed  from  some  source  which  he  could  not  discover. 

Martin  was  now  anxious  to  hurry  back  up  the  river 
as  soon  as  possible  to  make  a  careful  examination  of  the 
ground.  In  an  Indian  lodge  he  had  once  seen  a  shovel 
and  a  small  pick.  They  had  been  found  years  before,  so 
he  was  informed,  on  a  creek  many  miles  away.  Nearby 
were  lying  the  skeletons  of  two  men,  prospectors  no 
doubt,  who  had  miserably  perished  in  their  search  for 
gold.  The  natives  regarded  the  pick  and  shovel  with 
considerable  interest,  and  had  always  taken  good  care 
of  them.  Provided  with  these,  his  axe,  and  his  frying- 
pan,  which  would  serve  him  in  the  stead  of  the  pros- 
pector's regular  gold-pan,  Martin  at  length  reached 
the  spot  where  he  had  made  the  discovery  the  day 
before. 

He  knew  something  about  mining  operations  on  a 
small  scale,  as  he  had  not  only  read  much  about  it  in 
days  past,  but  in  his  journey  northward  he  had  watched 
prospectors  at  work  on  the  bars  of  the  river  and  along 


80  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

the  water's  edge.  This  knowledge  was  of  considerable 
service  to  him  now. 

Leaving  Nance  to  continue  her  play  of  the  day  before, 
Martin  scooped  up  a  quantity  of  gravel  with  his  frying- 
pan.  Washing  this  carefully,  he  was  delighted  to  find 
some  gold  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  pan.  His  excite- 
ment now  became  intense.  Stripping  off  several  pieces 
of  the  bark  of  the  cottonwood  tree,  he  spread  them  upon 
the  ground.  Upon  these  he  deposited  his  treasure  so  that 
the  sun  would  dry  it,  and  turned  once  more  to  the  pan- 
ning of  the  gravel. 

All  the  morning  and  afternoon  he  worked  with  fever- 
ish haste,  stopping  only  long  enough  to  eat  his  meal  with 
Nance.  The  lure  of  the  gold  was  upon  him,  and  it  was 
with  great  reluctance  that  he  abandoned  his  task  in  the 
evening  to  go  back  to  his  cabin. 

He  now  believed  that  all  the  ground  up  and  down  the 
creek  was  rich  with  gold.  The  magnitude  of  his  discov- 
ery almost  overwhelmed  him.  He  dropped  upon  the 
bank  and  tried  to  think  it  all  out.  He  longed  to  express 
himself  to  some  one,  in  order  to  relieve  his  feelings. 
Gold!  Gold!  He  was  wealthy  beyond  his  wildest 
dreams,  and  there  was  no  one  to  interfere  with  him. 
Gathering  up  the  gleaming  ore,  he  placed  it  all  in  his 
cap. 

"Look,  Nance!"  he  cried,  as  he  ran  his  fingers  lov- 
ingly through  his  treasure,  ' '  this  is  gold !  You  will  be 
the  richest  woman  on  earth  when  you  grow  up ! " 

"Pretty,  pretty,"  the  child  replied,  picking  up  sev- 
eral of  the  largest  nuggets.  "Let  me  play  with  them." 

"Yes,  Nance,  when  you  get  home.  We  will  both  play 
with  them  then,  eh?" 


THE  GOLDEN  LURE  81 

That  night  outside  the  cabin  door  the  gold  was  all 
carefully  examined,  and  the  little  stones  picked  out. 
This  they  did  each  night,  for  every  day  the  work  of 
washing  out  the  gold  was  continued.  It  was  then  placed 
in  a  strong  moose-skin  bag  and  hidden  away  in  the 
cabin. 

After  he  had  been  working  for  some  time  in  the 
stream  Martin  turned  his  attention  to  the  bank  above. 
He  believed  that  gold  in  large  paying  quantity  could 
be  found  by  digging  down  through  the  earth  and  if  pos- 
sible reaching  bed-rock.  This  he  accordingly  began  to 
do,  and  with  pick  and  shovel  he  made  good  progress 
until  he  struck  frozen  earth.  This  needed  to  be  thawed, 
so,  gathering  dry  wood,  he  kept  a  fire  burning  all 
through  the  day.  While  this  thawing  process  was  going 
on  he  prepared  other  shafts  over  which  fires  were  also 
built.  Every  day  he  dug  out  the  softened  earth  and  ere 
long  had  several  excavations  from  six  to  ten  feet  in 
depth.  The  farther  he  descended  the  richer  became  the 
ground.  At  times  he  would  wash  out  a  pan  full  of  earth 
to  find  a  most  gratifying  amount  of  gold. 

One  afternoon  he  came  to  gravel  which  led  him  to 
believe  that  he  was  now  not  far  from  bed-rock.  In  this 
he  was  not  mistaken,  for,  digging  with  feverish  haste, 
he  struck  at  last  upon  solid  rock.  He  could  see  that 
the  gravel  was  full  of  gold,  and  every  shovelful  he  threw 
out  sparkled  with  the  golden  ore. 

The  bed-rock,  which  was  soon  exposed,  sloped  down- 
ward, and  as  Martin  continued  his  shovelling  he  came  to 
a  crevice,  and  here  he  found  gold  which  caused  him  to 
drop  his  shovel  and  to  stare  in  amazement.  Then  he 
rubbed  his  eyes  to  be  sure  that  he  was  not  mistaken.  He 


•82  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

stooped  for  a  better  inspection.  He  sank  upon  his  knees 
and  tore  at  the  treasure  with  his  hands.  Some  of  it  was 
loose,  but  for  the  most  part  it  was  packed  and  wedged 
into  the  split  of  the  bed-rock.  How  far  this  ran  under- 
ground he  could  not  tell.  But  right  in  sight  was  a  for- 
tune in  itself.  Compared  with  this  new  discovery  his 
past  efforts  seemed  ridiculous.  He  recalled  how  he  had 
hoarded  the  smallest  grains  with  the  greatest  care.  But 
here  it  was  as  plentiful  as  dirt,  nuggets  large  and  small 
all  jammed  between  the  rocks. 

Although  this  gold  was  of  no  more  use  to  Martin  than 
the  gravel  lying  around,  yet  it  filled  him  with  intense 
excitement.  There  was  the  joy  of  discovery,  and  the 
happy  feeling  that  so  much  wealth  was  his  with  none  to 
dispute  his  claim.  He  understood  now  for  the  first 
time  something  of  the  fascination  of  the  quest  which 
lures  men  into  the  wilderness  to  endure  untold  hardships 
for  the  golden  treasure.  The  mere  finding  the  gold, 
looking  upon  it,  and  fondling  it,  form  the  great  reward. 

Nance  was  not  with  Martin  the  day  of  his  great  dis- 
covery. She  had  stayed  at  home  with  Quabee  as  she 
generally  did  now,  for  the  trips  up  the  river  had  lost 
their  fascination  for  her.  She  had  been  left  much  to 
herself  and  had  found  no  interest  in  the  big  holes  which 
Martin  had  dug  in  the  ground.  Her  sand  houses  were 
of  more  importance  to  her,  and  she  had  cried  at  times 
when  Martin  would  not  play  with  her.  To  her  the  gold 
was  nothing  more  than  so  many  pretty  little  stones. 
She  did  not  know  that  to  obtain  such  things  men  and 
women  in  the  far-off  world  would  be  willing  to  sacrifice 
almost  everything;  that  for  those  common  things  men 
were  sweltering,  fighting,  and  dying;  or  that  if  the  rich- 


THE  GOLDEN  LURE  83 

ness  of  the  Quaska  valley  became  known  a  vast  army  of 
gold  seekers  would  pour  into  the  place  and  change  peace 
into  chaos. 

Neither  did  the  natives  realise  the  great  wealth  lying 
so  near  their  encampment.  They  knew  nothing  as  yet 
of  the  magic  power  of  gold,  as  all  their  trading  hitherto 
with  the  white  people  had  been  with  the  skins  of  wild 
animals.  The  action  of  their  white  brother  digging  so 
earnestly  up  the  river  simply  amused  them.  Ever  since 
that  morning  when  they  had  watched  him  playing  at 
such  an  early  hour  before  his  cabin  door  they  had  serious 
doubts  as  to  his  sanity.  They  had  often  discussed  the 
strange  expression  in  his  eyes,  and  the  wildness  of  the 
sounds  he  had  made  upon  the  "stick  with  strings,"  the 
name  they  gave  to  the  violin. 

Martin  was  greatly  pleased  that  the  natives  did  not 
understand  what  he  was  doing.  It  would  have  given 
him  no  end  of  trouble  if  they  realised  the  value  of  the 
discovery  he  had  made.  Therefore,  when  he  returned 
to  his  cabin  with  the  gold  he  had  taken  off  of  bed-rock 
there  was  no  one  to  ask  any  questions,  and  no  curious 
excited  persons  crowding  around  to  examine  the  ore. 
There  was  only  Nance,  who  was  not  even  surprised,  who 
merely  ran  to  meet  him  to  tell  what  she  and  Quabee  had 
been  doing  during  the  day. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   AWAKENING 

ALL  through  the  rest  of  the  summer  Martin  carried 
on  his  mining  operations,  and  steadily  the  pile  of 
gold  within  the  cabin  increased.  At  length  the  cold 
nights  and  the  short  days  warned  him  that  winter  was 
fast  approaching.  He  accordingly  began  to  wonder  what 
he  should  do  with  his  treasure.  He  did  not  care  to  have 
it  lying  about  in  the  house,  as  it  was  hard  to  tell  what 
might  happen  to  it.  At  any  time  a  white  man  might 
drift  that  way,  and  he  well  knew  that  dark  deeds  had 
been  committed  with  a  far  lesser  motive  than  the  seizure 
of  so  much  gold.  It  would  prove  a  temptation  to  almost 
any  man.  He  would  often  awake  with  a  start  in  the 
dead  of  night  thinking  that  some  one  was  creeping 
stealthily  across  the  floor.  Formerly  he  would  sit  late 
before  the  fire  with  never  a  shadow  of  a  fear  upon  his 
mind.  But  now  he  would  turn  apprehensively  towards 
the  window,  thinking  that  faces  were  peering  in  upon 
him.  He  hardly  liked  to  be  away  from  home  for  any 
length  of  time  lest  something  should  happen  to  the  gold 
during  his  absence. 

His  mind  became  so  obsessed  with  this  idea  that  he 
became  nervous,  and  his  peace  of  mind  vanished.  At 
last  he  determined  to  deposit  the  gold  in  a  secure  place. 

84 


THE  AWAKENING  85 

After  careful  consideration  he  dug  a  hole  in  the  ground 
at  the  back  of  the  cabin.  At  the  bottom  he  placed  a 
large  flat  stone,  walled  up  the  sides,  and  plastered  them 
over  with  clay,  such  as  he  had  used  upon  the  fire-place 
and  chimney. 

When  this  had  been  finished  to  his  satisfaction  he 
erected  over  it  a  small,  strong  log  building,  the  back  of 
the  cabin  forming  one  of  the  sides,  through  which  he  cut 
a  door.  There  was  no  other  opening  in  the  lean-to,  not 
even  a  window,  so  the  place  would  always  be  in  darkness 
except  when  lighted  by  a  candle.  In  the  floor,  and  im- 
mediately over  the  excavation,  he  fastened  a  trap-door, 
fitting  the  flat-hewn  pieces  of  timber  in  such  an  irregu- 
lar manner  that  no  one  would  ever  suspect  that  there 
was  any  opening  in  the  floor  at  all.  Then  when  the  roof 
was  placed  in  position,  and  all  finished,  Martin  brought 
the  gold  from  the  cabin  and  deposited  it  in  his  ground 
vault.  When  the  trap-door  was  dropped  back  into  place 
Martin  viewed  everything  with  great  approval.  He 
called  this  building  his  ' '  Bank, ' '  and  he  often  smiled  to 
himself  as  he  considered  what  a  unique  bank  it  really 
was.  He  alone  was  the  president,  shareholder,  and  de- 
positor. There  were  no  books  to  keep,  and  no  regular 
hours  in  which  to  do  business.  There  wras  no  com- 
petition, and  no  anxious  watching  of  the  fluctuations 
in  the  money  market.  He  had  full  control  of  every- 
thing, and  to  no  one  did  he  have  to  render  any  ac- 
count. 

Martin's  mind  thus  became  so  filled  with  the  lure  of 
the  gold  that  for  weeks  everything  else  was  either  neg- 
lected or  forgotten.  From  morning  till  night,  and  often 
during  the  night,  he  thought  of  the  wealth  he  was  ac- 


86  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

quiring.  The  fear  lest  the  missionary  should  visit  the 
encampment  troubled  him  very  little.  Nance,  too,  re- 
ceived but  a  small  share  of  his  attention.  He  found  it 
difficult  to  play  with  her,  or  to  tell  her  the  stories  for 
which  she  asked.  She  was  left  more  and  more  to  Qua- 
bee's  tender  care,  and  always  ran  to  the  Indian  woman 
with  her  little  troubles.  Martin  did  not  notice  that  the 
child  was  eating  less  of  late,  neither  did  he  awaken  to 
the  fact  that  her  happy  joyous  laugh  was  seldom  heard. 
She  would  often  sit  quietly  by  herself,  holding  her  doll 
in  her  arms,  while  her  big  open  eyes  gazed  far  off  into 
space. 

One  morning  when  Nance  did  not  get  up  at  her  usual 
time  Martin  went  to  her  cot. 

' '  What 's  the  matter,  little  one  ? "  he  asked.  ' '  You  are 
sleepy  this  morning. ' ' 

A  faint  smile  trembled  about  the  corners  of  the  child 's 
mouth,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

As  this  was  something  unusual,  Martin  became  anx- 
ious. He  placed  his  hand  to  her  forehead,  and  found 
that  it  was  very  hot. 

"Nance,  Nance!  are  you  sick?"  he  cried,  as  he  bent 
and  looked  searchingly  into  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  daddy,"  was  the  low  response.  "I'm  so  tired 
and  hot.  I  want  Quabee. ' ' 

As  Martin  listened  to  these  words  he  was  seized  with 
a  nameless  dread.  For  the  first  time  he  noticed  how 
very  wan  was  her  flushed  face.  "What  should  he  do? 
He  was  helpless  in  the  presence  of  sickness.  The  Indian 
women  might  know  what  was  the  trouble. 

"So  you  want  Quabee,  do  you?"  he  questioned. 

"Yes,  I  want  Quabee,"  was  the  faint  reply. 


THE  AWAKENING  87 

"Very  well,  then.  I  shall  go  for  her  at  once.  I  won't 
be  long." 

As  Martin  hurried  over  to  the  Indian  encampment  he 
upbraided  himself  for  his  neglect  of  the  child.  "I've 
been  a  fool,  a  downright  fool ! "  he  muttered  to  himself. 
"I  might  have  seen  days  ago  that  she  was  failing  if  I 
had  not  been  so  taken  up  with  that  cursed  gold." 

It  did  not  take  him  long  to  tell  Quabee  and  her 
mother,  Naheesh,  about  the  child's  illness,  and  soon  the 
three  were  hurrying  towards  the  cabin. 

Nance's  face  brightened  as  the  young  Indian  woman 
bent  over  her.  Martin  saw  the  smile  of  greeting  and  it 
smote  him  sore.  Knowing  that  the  women  could  do  all 
that  was  possible  for  the  child,  he  left  the  building  and 
sat  upon  the  trunk  of  the  old  tree  just  outside  the  door. 
What  if  Nance  should  die!  The  thought  was  terrible. 
How  could  he  live  without  her !  He  had  neglected  her 
so  much  that  the  first  one  she  wanted  was  Quabee.  A 
jealous  feeling  stole  into  his  heart.  And  yet  he  knew 
that  it  was  his  own  fault.  Oh,  why  had  he  left  her  so 
much  to  herself !  It  was  for  her  sake,  he  reasoned.  He 
desired  the  gold  for  her,  not  for  himself.  But  if  Nance 
should  be  taken  away  what  good  would  all  the  gold  in 
the  country  amount  to  then? 

Later  when  he  crept  softly  back  into  the  room  Nance 
was  asleep,  and  Quabee  motioned  to  him  to  be  silent. 
Naheesh  had  gone  to  prepare  some  medicine  from  native 
herbs  and  bark,  and  would  return  shortly.  All  that  he 
could  do,  therefore,  was  to  sit  close  by  the  cot  and  watch, 
Ere  long  Nance  opened  her  eyes  and  asked  for  water. 
All  through  the  day  she  tossed  upon  her  little  bed, 
Martin  left  her  side  hardly  for  a  moment.  She  did  not 


88  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

know  him  nor  any  one  else  in  the  room.  She  called  often 
for  her  mother,  and  piteously  asked  why  she  did  not 
come  to  her.  The  day  passed  and  night  came  on,  but 
Martin  remained  at  his  post  with  Quabee  ever  near. 
His  eyes  seldom  left  the  child's  face,  and  sometimes  he 
•  would  hold  one  of  her  little  hot  hands  in  his.  How  he 
longed  for  her  to  look  up  into  his  face,  speak  to  him, 
and  throw  her  arms  about  his  neck.  He  recalled  the 
last  time  she  had  run  to  him.  It  was  when  he  was  busy 
sorting  the  gold  he  had  gathered  that  day.  He  had  put 
her  away  somewhat  abruptly,  telling  her  that  he  was 
very  busy,  and  that  she  must  not  bother  him.  She  had 
looked  surprised,  her  lips  had  quivered  as  she  turned 
away  towards  Quabee.  How  forcibly  the  whole  incident 
came  to  him  now.  "What  would  he  not  give  to  have  her 
put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  ask  him  to  play  with 
her  as  of  old. 

The  second  night  of  Nance 's  illness  Martin  was  sitting 
alone  by  her  side,  as  Quabee  had  gone  back  to  her  own 
lodge  for  a  much-needed  rest.  The  faithfulness  and  self- 
denial  of  the  young  Indian  woman  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion upon  his  mind.  No  mother  could  have  been  more 
attentive  to  her  sick  child  than  was  Quabee  to  this 
motherless  girl.  Martin  sat  very  still  with  his  head  bent 
low,  but  with  ears  keenly  alert  to  Nance 's  heavy  breath- 
ing. He  tried  to  be  brave  and  hope  for  the  best.  But 
as  the  hours  dragged  by  he  found  it  difficult  to  keep  up 
his  drooping  spirits.  The  terrible  fear  was  ever  with 
him  that  he  was  to  lose  Nance.  What  should  he  do  with- 
out her?  he  asked  himself  over  and  over  again.  With 
her  gone,  what  was  there  for  him  to  live  for?  There 
was  no  one  else  in  the  whole  world  who  cared  for  him 


THE  AWAKENING  89 

except  this  little  child.  Why  should  he  lose  her  when 
she  meant  so  much  to  him  ? 

A  vision  of  his  past  life  rose  suddenly  before  him.  It 
came  upon  him  with  a  startling  intensity,  and  in  a  man- 
ner altogether  different  from  anything  he  had  hitherto 
experienced.  The  sin  which  had  caused  him  to  be  an 
outcast  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  loomed  out  of  the 
darkness  black  and  appalling.  There  was  not  one  ex- 
tenuating circumstance  connected  with  the  whole  affair. 
He  saw  the  woman,  whose  life  he  had  ruined,  left  to  bear 
her  disgrace  alone.  Never  before  did  he  comprehend 
what  a  monster  he  really  was.  What  chastisement  could 
be  severe  enough  to  punish  him  for  what  he  had  done? 
Had  he  a  right  to  expect  anything  else?  He  believed 
that  he  had  suffered  during  the  past  years,  but  it  was 
as  nothing  compared  to  what  he  was  enduring  this  night. 
His  very  soul  was  being  laid  bare  by  some  mysterious 
power  which  he  could  not  fathom.  Why  should  such 
thoughts  arise  within  his  bosom  now  ?  he  asked  himself. 
Was  Nance  to  be  taken  away  as  a  part  of  the  punish- 
ment which  truly  belonged  to  him?  He  had  often 
thought  and  preached  about  the  miseries  of  the  damned, 
but  only  now  did  he  realise  that  a  man  who  has  sinned 
carries  the  tortures  of  hell  within  his  own  bosom. 

Haggard  and  trembling,  Martin  staggered  to  his  feet, 
and  paced  up  and  down  the  room.  The  veins  stood  out 
upon  his  forehead ;  his  blood-shot  eyes  had  the  look  of  a 
hunted  animal;  the  muscles  of  his  body  were  firmly 
rigid,  while  his  clenched  hands  had  the  grip  of  a  drown- 
ing man  clinging  desperately  for  life  to  a  few  floating 
straws.  How  could  he  endure  such  agony  of  soul? 
Would  it  last  through  days,  months,  and  years  to  come  ? 


90 

He  knew  that  such  could  not  be  the  case,  for  if  it  con- 
tinued much  longer  he  would  surely  go  raving  mad. 

A  slight  moan  from  Nance  aroused  him.  Going  at 
once  to  the  cot,  he  looked  down  upon  the  face  of  the 
sleeping  child.  She  was  talking  in  her  sleep,  and  listen- 
ing attentively  Martin  could  catch  the  words,  "Mamma, 
Daddy."  After  a  pause  she  began  to  repeat  the  words 
of  a  prayer  she  said  every  night. 

"  'Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep. 
If  I '  " 

Then  she  wandered  off  and  talked  about  Quabee,  her 
dolly,  and  the  Christmas  tree. 

Martin  took  her  little  hand  in  his,  and  as  he  watched 
her  a  love,  such  as  he  had  never  before  known,  came  into 
his  heart.  Then  his  eyes  grew  dim,  and  down  his  cheeks 
flowed  the  tears.  He  sank  upon  a  stool  by  the  cot,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  Not  for  years  had  he  wept, 
but  it  was  that  little  prayer  which  had  unbound  the 
flood-gates  and  allowed  the  tears  to  well  forth.  He 
thought  of  the  nights  she  had  said  the  same  words  at  hia 
knees,  and  how  she  had  always  prayed  for  her  father 
and  her  mother.  At  length  he  lifted  his  head  and  in  his 
eyes  was  a  new  light.  He  slipped  from  the  stool,  and 
sank  upon  his  knees  upon  the  hard  floor.  It  was  no  set 
formal  prayer  which  the  outcast  uttered  this  night.  It 
was  a  passionate,  yearning  cry  to  the  great  Father  above 
to  spare  the  little  child,  and  to  leave  her  with  him  for  a 
while  longer. 

For  some  time  he  remained  in  this  kneeling  position, 


THE  AWAKENING  91 

but  somehow  he  did  not  receive  the  reassuring  comfort 
he  had  expected.  He  recalled  the  time  when  peace  and 
comfort  had  always  come  to  him  on  such  an  occasion. 
Now,  however,  it  was  so  different.  He  believed  that  the 
same  Father  was  ready  to  hear  as  of  old,  but  why  was 
there  not  the  feeling  of  peace  as  formerly  ? 

He  thought  of  this  as  he  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  sick 
child,  with  his  face  deep  in  his  hands.  Then  in  an 
instant  it  all  came  to  him.  It  was  his  great  sin  which 
stood  between  him  and  his  God !  He  understood  for  the 
first  time  the  full  meaning  of  the  story  of  the  Garden  of 
Eden.  As  it  was  impossible  for  the  first  parents  to  go 
back  to*  the  sweet  peace  of  their  former  life  after  they 
had  sinned,  so  neither  could  he  return  to  the  blessed 
state  of  years  ago  because  of  the  sin  which  he  had  com- 
mitted. There  stood  before  him  at  the  gate  the  explicit 
"Nay"  of  the  eternal  God  which  guarded  the  entrance 
to  the  throne  of  purity  and  peace  as  truly  as  did  the 
flaming  revolving  sword  in  the  far-off  Edenic  days.  He 
knew  that  he  was  an  outcast  in  a  more  terrible  manner 
than  he  had  ever  imagined.  He  was  an  outcast  not  only 
from  his  Church,  but  from  his  God.  The  former  he  had 
scorned,  believing  that  he  could  get  along  without  it. 
But  an  outcast  from  his  God!  He  lifted  his  haggard 
face  as  the  terrible  reality  dawned  upon  him.  He  rose 
slo.wly  to  his  feet.  He  groped  his  way  to  the  big  chair, 
and  sank  heavily  into  it,  the  very  epitome  of  wretched 
despair. 


CHAPTER   XI 

UNFOLDING 

WHEN  morning  dawned  the  horrors  of  the  night  les- 
sened, and  although  weary  from  want  of  sleep 
Martin  was  not  so  much  depressed.  This  was  due  prin- 
cipally to  the  fact  that  Nance  was  somewhat  improved. 
The  change  had  come  very  quietly,  and  toward  morning 
she  had  opened  her  eyes  and  had  spoken  to  the  bowed 
man  crouching  in  the  chair  before  the  fire.  Martin  had 
bounded  to  her  side,  and  when  he  saw  the  new  expression 
in  her  eyes  he  knew  that  the  turn  for  the  better  had 
come,  and  that  with  care  she  would  recover. 

There  was  complete  silence  in  the  cabin  all  through 
the  day,  for  Nance,  who  had  sunk  into  a  natural  sleep, 
must  not  be  disturbed.  Quabee,  and  often  Taku,  kept 
a  patient  and  faithful  watch  by  the  child,  while  Martin 
slept  on  the  couch  to  the  left  of  the  fire-place. 

Thus  through  the  days  and  weeks  which  followed  this 
season  of  anxiety  Nance  rapidly  improved.  Martin  was 
ever  with  her,  played  with  her,  told  her  stories,  and  did 
all  in  his  power  to  atone  for  his  past  neglect.  The  story 
he  was  called  upon  to  tell  more  than  any  other  was  about 
Beryl.  Nance  was  never  weary  of  hearing  about  her, 
and  it  was  the  one  which  Martin  was  never  tired  of  re- 
lating. A  mere  general  and  vague  idea  of  what  her 

92 


UNFOLDING  93 

heroine  was  like  would  not  satisfy  the  child.  She  had  to 
know  the  colour  of  her  eyes,  hair,  what  kind  of  dresses 
she  wore,  and  how  she  looked  when  she  sang,  in  fact  so 
many  things  that  Martin's  memory  was  severely  put  to 
the  test. 

To  Nance  Beryl  was  more  than  human.  The  child's 
vivid  imagination  wrought  a  marvellous  transformation, 
and  invested  her  heroine  with  qualities  little  short  of 
divine.  As  the  months  passed  and  Nance's  mind  stead- 
ily developed  this  silent  adoration  instead  of  diminishing 
increased.  Beryl  was  her  standard  of  perfection  in 
everything.  She  must  have  her  hair  arranged  just  like 
Beryl's,  and  she  endeavoured  to  teach  Quabee  to  make 
her  dresses  like  those  of  her  heroine.  The  Indian  woman 
would  often  gaze  in  amazement  as  Nance  talked  about 
Beryl.  She  could  not  see  with  the  eyes  of  the  child,  nor 
enter  into  her  bright  and  wonderful  world  of  fancy. 

The  greatest  thing  of  all  to  Nance  was  that  Beryl 
could  sing.  She,  accordingly,  must  do  the  same.  She 
had  a  sweet  voice  herself,  and  a  true  ear,  and  picked  up 
tunes  almost  intuitively.  Able  to  sing  himself,  Martin 
taught  her  all  the  songs  and  hymns  he  could  remember. 
Then  when  she  became  old  enough  he  gave  her  lessons 
upon  the  violin.  It  was  a  great  day  for  the  child  when 
she  was  allowed  to  take  the  instrument  into  her  own 
hands.  She  had  often  looked  upon  it  with  deep  longing, 
and  would  sit  for  any  length  of  time  watching  Martin 
drawing  the  bow  so  skilfully  across  the  strings,  and  pro- 
ducing such  marvellous  music. 

Since  Nance's  illness  Martin's  mind  had  been  much 
concerned  as  to  the  child 's  future.  He  had  brought  her 
into  the  wilderness,  and  was  it  right  that  she  should 


94  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

grow  up  in  ignorance  ?  He  began  to  realise  his  responsi- 
bility more  and  more.  Some  day,  no  doubt,  she  would 
go  out  into  the  world  of  civilisation,  and  should  she  go 
as  a  young  savage?  No,  such  should  not  be  the  case. 
He  would  teach  her  here  in  the  little  cabin.  It  would 
be  the  schoolhouse,  he  the  teacher,  and  Nance  the  pupil. 
He  would  instruct  her  year  after  year,  develop  her 
mind,  and  lead  her  into  many  fields  of  knowledge.  Al- 
though far  away  from  the  great  centres  of  education 
she  should  have  learning  which  should  not  make  her 
ashamed  if  ever  she  should  leave  her  forest  home. 

With  his  mind  thus  made  up  Martin  at  once  outlined 
a  course  of  studies  for  Nance.  The  instruction  was  very 
simple  at  first.  Martin  was  a  good  teacher,  the  child  an 
apt  scholar,  and  so  rapid  progress  was  made.  By  the 
time  Nance  was  able  to  read  there  came  the  great  neces- 
sity for  books.  Martin  had  printed  everything  for  her 
upon  scraps  of  paper.  But  this  was  a  laborious  and  a 
never-ending  task.  He,  therefore,  sent  an  order  to  the 
trading  post,  and  after  waiting  for  over  a  year  the  books 
at  last  arrived.  Martin  had  written  for  children 's  books 
suitable  for  a  little  girl.  This  order  the  trader  had 
forwarded  to  his  company  in  England,  and  the  selection 
was  accordingly  made  there. 

It  was  a  great  event  for  Nance  when  the  books  ar- 
rived. It  was  a  cold  night  in  midwinter  when  the  In- 
dians returned  from  their  trip  to  the  post.  There  were 
other  things  as  well  in  the  various  packages,  but  the  girl 
had  no  eyes  for  anything  but  the  books.  Martin,  too, 
was  much  interested.  The  sight  of  a  book  was  to  him 
like  a  sparkling  spring  of  water  to  a  thirsty  traveller. 
Although  they  were  only  books  for  children,  yet  he  un- 


UNFOLDING  95 

wrapped  the  parcel  with  feverish  haste  and  examined 
each  volume.  He  and  Nance  were  on  the  floor  before 
the  fire,  and  as  the  thick  paper  wrapping  gave  way,  and 
the  books  were  exposed  to  view,  the  maiden  clapped  her 
hands  with  delight. 

"Oh,  daddy,  look  at  this!"  and  she  picked  up  one  of 
the  treasures  with  a  bright  picture  on  the  cover. 

"You  will  like  that,  Nance,"  Martin  replied.  "It's 
'Alice  in  Wonderland,'  the  story  your  mother  used  to 
tell  you,  and  suppose  we  begin  upon  it  first." 

Thus  sitting  upon  Martin 's  knee,  with  her  head  resting 
against  his  shoulder,  Nance  heard  again  that  sweet, 
thrilling  story  of  Alice's  marvellous  adventures.  Never 
before  had  she  listened  to  a  tale  from  a  real  book, 
and  often  she  would  interrupt  the  reading  that  she 
might  look  upon  the  funny,  and,  to  her,  wonderful  pic- 
tures. 

That  night  after  Nance  was  asleep  Martin  sat  for  a 
long  time  before  the  fire.  The  book  he  was  reading  was 
not  new  to  him,  but  it  had  been  years  since  he  had  first 
read  "Little  "Women."  It  fascinated  him  now  more 
than  ever.  He  could  enter  into  the  ways  of  children, 
and  in  every  incident  Nance  always  rose  up  before  him. 
How  pure  and  innocent  were  the  little  folk  mentioned  in 
the  book,  and  what  a  confiding  trust  they  had  in  their 
elders. 

After  a  while  he  laid  the  volume  aside  and  began  to 
muse  upon  what  he  had  just  been  reading.  Suppose  that 
the  children  should  have  found  out  that  the  older  ones, 
surrounding  them  with  such  love  and  care,  were  very 
wicked,  and  had  committed  evil  deeds  in  the  past.  What 
a  fearful  and  heart-breaking  revelation  it  would  have 


96  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

been  to  them.  Then  he  thought  of  Nance.  What  if  she 
in  some  way  should  learn  that  he  himself  was  a  bad 
man !  What  would  she  think  ?  He  knew  that  she  looked 
upon  him  as  her  hero,  and  if  she  should  find  out  the 
truth  about  his  past  life  what  a  terrible  grief  it  would 
bring  to  her. 

Martin  sat  straight  up  in  his  chair  as  these  thoughts 
swept  upon  him.  Nance  must  never  know.  She  must 
always  think  of  him  as  a  man  true  and  pure.  Neither 
must  he  give  her  any  cause  to  believe  otherwise. 

Martin  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  himself.  He 
longed  to  be  worthy  of  Nance's  trust.  What  would  he 
not  give  to  be  able  to  look  into  her  clear,  confiding  eyes, 
and  to  feel  that  he  was  just  what  she  considered  him  to 
be.  This  was  what  gave  him  so  much  concern  now.  He 
wanted  the  child  to  believe  in  him,  and  at  the  same  time 
he  wished  to  be  worthy  of  that  belief. 

A  new  life  was  now  opened  up  to  Nance.  She  was 
growing  fast,  not  only  in  body,  but  in  mind  as  well. 
The  books  had  admitted  her  into  a  world  of  wonder  of 
which  she  had  never  before  dreamed.  They  were  only 
a  few  to  be  sure,  but  she  knew  them  almost  by  heart. 
Her  music,  too,  gave  her  much  delight,  and  Martin  was 
astonished  at  the  rapid  progress  she  made.  The  next 
year  more  books  arrived,  with  some  sheet-music  as  well, 
and  thus  Nance's  mind  was  fed  upon  new  delights. 
Then,  one  Christmas  morning,  when  she  opened  her  eyes, 
she  found  at  the  foot  of  the  Christmas  tree  a  fine  new 
violin — her  very  own.  She  did  not  know  how  much  the 
instrument  had  cost,  nor  the  effort  which  had  been  made 
to  obtain  it.  Her  cup  of  joy  was  now  overflowing. 
Martin,  too,  was  happy  as  he  watched  Nance.  Her  eyes 


UNFOLDING  97 

sparkled  with  animation,  and  her  face  beamed  with 
happiness  as  she  drew  the  bow  deftly  across  the 
strings. 

That  she  was  developing  into  a  beautiful  maiden  he 
was  well  aware.  She  was  growing  fast,  with  a  figure 
lithe  and  graceful.  Her  dark  eyes  reflected  as  in  a  clear 
spring  the  various  moods  of  her  nature.  They  twinkled 
with  fun,  and  danced  with  delight,  Often  they  grew 
sad  and  thoughtful,  and  at  times  they  were  soft  with 
the  light  of  love.  Hers  was  an  affectionate  nature, 
which  was  revealed  more  and  more  as  the  years  passed. 
To  her  Martin  was  all  in  all,  and  as  her  mind  expanded 
she  saw  the  difference  between  him  and  the  Indians. 
The  latter  were  very  dear  to  her,  especially  Quabee. 
But  the  native  women  could  not  understand  the  deep 
longings  hidden  within  her  bosom.  She  knew  that  Mar- 
tin could,  and  to  him  she  talked. 

Nance  often  wondered  what  the  great  world  was  like 
beyond  the  mountains,  about  which  she  had  read  so  much 
in  the  books.  Why  were  she  and  Martin  living  away  in 
the  wilderness  among  the  Indians?  she  asked  herself 
many  a  time.  Martin  often  noticed  the  far-away  expres- 
sion in  her  eyes,  and  partly  surmised  the  cause.  It  gave 
him  considerable  uneasiness.  He  was  afraid  lest  Nance 
should  become  dissatisfied  and  wish  to  go  to  the  places 
of  which  he  had  so  often  told  her.  He  had  expected 
this,  and  had  even  looker  forward  to  the  day  when  they 
would  leave  their  forest  home.  But  now  when  the  time 
seemed  to  be  drawing  near  he  shrank  more  and  more 
from  the  idea. 

Although  Nance  had  just  entered  her  teens  when  these 
thoughts  came  to  Martin,  yet  he  realised  that  every  year 


98  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

would  make  the  life  more  unbearable  to  her.  She  was 
longing  for  some  white  girl  to  play  with.  The  Indian 
children,  notwithstanding  the  teaching  they  had  received 
from  Martin,  did  not  suit  her  as  companions.  She  sel- 
dom cared  to  play  with  them,  preferring  to  be  by  her- 
self or  with  Martin. 

During  the  summer  Nance  lived  mostly  in  the  open. 
When  not  roaming  along  the  river  gathering  wild  flow- 
ers, which  grew  in  such  abundance,  she  was  out  upon  the 
lake  with  Martin.  What  life  could  be  more  congenial 
than  that  spent  in  God 's  Great  Open.  Yet  in  the  maid- 
en's  heart  there  was  a  longing  for  other  things.  She 
wished  to  know  more  of  the  world  beyond  the  mountains, 
and  to  mingle  with  the  people  of  whom  she  had  heard  so 
much  from  Martin  and  read  about  in  the  books.  She 
often  pictured  to  herself  what  it  would  be  like,  how  she 
should  act,  and  what  people  would  think  of  her.  At 
such  times  she  always  thought  of  Beryl,  and  tried  to 
imagine  what  she  would  do  and  say.  Such  an  influence 
was  by  no  means  without  its  effect,  and  Martin  often 
marvelled  how  Nance  acquired  such  a  quiet  and  grace- 
ful manner,  never  having  seen  a  white  woman,  except 
her  mother,  whom  she  did  not  even  remember.  He 
did  not  know  that  the  silent  daily  worship  of  an  ideal 
woman  was  working  the  transformation.  Everything 
he  had  told  her  about  Beryl  had  been  thought  over 
so  continually  that  the  very  character  of  the  wom- 
an of  beauty,  refinement  and  nobleness  had  be- 
come indelibly  impressed  upon  the  maiden's  plastic 
nature. 

Thus,  while  Nance  was  living  in  her  enchanted  world 
of  fancy,  Martin  was  brooding  deeply  over  more  serious 


UNFOLDING  99 

things.  Of  his  burden,  which  grew  all  the  heavier  as  the 
years  passed,  he  could  in  no  way  lighten  it  by  speaking 
of  it  to  Nance.  He  had  to  bear  it  alone,  no  matter  how 
crushing  it  might  become. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE   EDGE   OF   EVENTS 

IT  was  a  night  of  wind  and  storm  in  the  Quaska  val- 
ley. It  had  been  snowing  all  day,  and  a  fierce  wind 
was  driving  down  the  river.  As  long  as  daylight  lasted 
Nance  had  stood  by  the  window,  looking  out  towards  the 
lake.  The  mountains  were  all  hidden  from  view,  and 
nothing  could  she  see  but  the  snow  which  swirled  and 
raved  around  the  house.  It  was  the  last  of  January, 
and  all  through  the  winter  Nance  had  been  thinking 
seriously  of  that  life  beyond  the  mountains  which  was 
drawing  her  with  irresistible,  invisible  cords.  She  was 
not  a  child  now,  but  a  young  woman  of  seventeen,  tall 
and  graceful. 

Leaving  at  length  the  window,  she  began  to  prepare 
the  evening  meal.  The  cabin  had  undergone  consider- 
able changes  during  the  past  five  years.  It  was  no 
longer  a  bare  dingy  place.  The  rough  walls  had  been 
carefully  covered  with  cotton,  and  this  coloured  with  a 
light-blue  paint,  which  had  been  procured  at  the  trading 
post.  Magazine-pictures  were  tacked  on  all  sides,  while 
several  large  rare  pelts  were  stretched  out  upon  the 
walls.  The  bareness  of  the  floor  was  relieved  by  a  num- 
ber of  well-dressed  bear  skins.  On  the  side  of  the  fire- 
place, where  Nance 's  cot  had  formerly  stood,  a  room  had 

100 


THE  EDGE  OF  EVENTS  101 

been  curtained  off  especially  for  her  own  use.  Instead 
of  scraped  skins  letting  in  the  light  through  the  win- 
dows, glass  had  been  obtained  at  much  expense.  In  the 
middle  of  the  room  stood  the  table  as  of  old,  but  this 
now  was  covered  with  a  cloth  of  a  deep  rich  shade.  It 
had  been  one  of  Martin's  ambitions  to  make  this  little 
home  as  cosy  and  comfortable  as  possible,  and  each  year 
he  had  added  some  of  the  refinements  of  civilisation.  In 
this  way  he  had  hoped  not  only  to  educate  Nance  but  to 
make  her  more  satisfied  with  her  lot. 

As  Nance  now  prepared  supper  she  laid  a  white  cloth 
upon  the  table,  and  brought  from  a  little  cupboard  to  the 
left  plates,  cups,  saucers,  knives,  and  forks.  She  was  a 
good  housekeeper,  for  Martin  had  instructed  her  in 
such  matters,  as  well  as  in  music  and  other  accomplish- 
ments. She  was  thus  busy  at  work  when  the  door 
opened  and  Martin  entered.  He  stood  for  a  few  sec- 
onds looking  upon  the  scene  before  him.  The  bright 
light  of  the  fire  illumined  the  room,  forming  a  pleasing 
contrast  to  the  roughness  of  the  night  outside.  Nance 
turned  towards  him  with  a  smile  of  welcome. 

"Oh,  daddy,"  she  began,  "I'm  so  glad  you  are  back, 
as  I  have  been  very  lonesome.  "What  has  kept  you  so 
long?" 

Martin  walked  over  to  the  fire  and  laid  aside  his  heavy 
coat. 

' '  Supper  is  ready,  I  see, ' '  and  he  glanced  at  the  nicely- 
browned  piece  of  moose  meat  sizzling  by  the  fire.  ' '  I  'm 
hungry  as  a  bear,  so  can't  tell  you  now  what  I've  been 
up  to.  But  you  shall  know  before  long. ' ' 

"When  both  were  seated  at  the  table,  and  the  meal  wa» 
well  under  way,  Martin  looked  over  at  Nance. 


102  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"I've  heard  important  news  to-day,"  he  remarked. 

"AtTaku's?" 

"Yes.  It's  somewhat  startling,  too.  The  Indians 
have  brought  in  word  that  there  has  been  a  rush  of  white 
men  into  the  country.  There's  been  a  gold  strike  some- 
where down  the  Heena,  and  they  came  in  by  way  of  the 
Ayan  River." 

"Will  it  affect  us  here,  do  you  think?"  and  Nance 
looked  earnestly  at  Martin. 

"Not  for  a  while,"  was  the  reply.  "But  we  can't 
expect  to  be  left  alone  for  any  length  of  time.  There 
will  be  prospectors  prowling  all  over  the  country  now, 
and  they  are  bound  to  strike  the  rich  diggings  up  the 
Quaska.  When  that  happens  there'll  be  hordes  and 
hordes  up  this  way. ' ' 

"Will  they  trouble  us  any,  daddy,  do  you  think?" 

"Will  they!  You  may  be  sure  they  will.  This  will 
be  no  place  for  us  if  they  discover  the  gold  up  yonder. 
They  will  swarm  in  here  like  flies,  and  our  days  of  peace 
will  be  over." 

Nance  did  not  reply  to  these  words,  and  save  for  the 
crackling  of  the  fire  there  was  silence  in  the  room.  Mar- 
tin's  mind  dwelt  upon  the  changes  which  would  take 
place  around  the  quiet  lake  should  the  miners  come.  He 
thought  also  of  the  gold,  so  carefully  concealed  in  the 
ground  at  the  rear  of  his  house.  He  and  Nance  were  the 
only  ones  supposed  to  know  anything  about  the  treasure 
buried  there. 

"Daddy,  let  us  go  away  from  this  place,"  Nance  at 
length  remarked. 

Martin  started,  and  almost  dropped  the  cup  he  was 
raising  to  his  lips.  He  looked  keenly  into  the  flushed 


THE  EDGE  OF  EVENTS  103 

face  before  him,  and  then  partly  understood  what  an 
effort  it  had  been  for  Nance  to  make  such  a  request. 

' '  Are  'you  tired  of  living  here,  little  one  ? "  he  asked, 
and  his  voice  had  a  pathetic  note,  which  did  not  escape 
Nance's  attention.  "Are  you  dissatisfied  with  your 
lot?" 

"Not  altogether,  daddy.  But  we  used  to  talk,  you 
remember,  how  some  day  we  would  go  away  to  the  great 
world  outside,  although  we  have  not  spoken  about  it  for 
several  years.  In  a  way  I  am  happy  here,  and  you  do  so 
much  for  me  that  I  should  be  satisfied.  But  I  do  want 
to  see  some  of  the  things  of  which  you  have  told  me. ' ' 

"Sure,  sure;  it's  only  natural,"  Martin  assented. 

' '  It  seems  as  if  we  should  go  soon, ' '  Nance  continued, 
"if  we  are  to  go  at  all.  Should  the  miners  come  here 
our  quiet  home-life  would  be  broken  up,  and  you  would 
not  wish  to  remain  any  longer  if  they  came,  would  you  ? ' ' 

Martin  did  not  at  once  reply  to  these  words.  He 
pushed  back  the  stool  upon  which  he  was  sitting,  and 
drew  forth  his  pipe.  His  mind  was  in  a  perturbed  state. 
He  had  been  dreading  the  coming  of  the  time  when 
Nance  should  wish  to  leave  the  Quaska  valley.  He  had 
taught  her  for  years,  and  she  had  responded  to  his  teach- 
ing. He  was  proud  of  her,  and  he  well  knew  that  she 
could  soon  take  her  place  in  the  great  world  beyond. 
There  were  many  things,  of  course,  which  she  would 
have  to  learn  there  in  addition  to  what  he  had  taught 
her.  He  had  kept  from  her  all  knowledge  of  the  Church, 
and  of  clergymen.  Of  them  she  knew  absolutely  noth- 
ing. She  would  naturally  be  astonished  when  they  went 
outside,  and  would  ask  why  he  had  not  spoken  to  her 
about  such  things.  What  answer  would  he  be  able  to 


104  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

give?  At  times  during  her  reading  Nance  had  come 
across  various  things  about  the  Church,  but  as  Martin 
had  told  her  that  it  was  merely  a  society  of  men  and 
women  she  had  thought  nothing  more  about  it  then. 

Martin  dreaded,  moreover,  the  idea  of  mingling  again 
with  many  people.  He  tried  to  believe  that  all  had  for- 
gotten him,  and  what  he  had  done.  But  now  he  did  not 
feel  so  sure,  as  he  felt  that  some  would  remember.  For 
himself  he  did  not  care  so  much.  But  suppose  that 
Nance  should  hear  of  it !  There  were  bound  to  be  med- 
dlesome people,  who  would  consider  it  their  duty  to  tell 
everything  they  knew.  He  had  met  such  persons,  who 
seemed  to  consider  it  a  part  of  their  religion  to  make  it 
as  uncomfortable  as  possible  for  any  one  who  had  stepped 
aside  from  the  path  of  rectitude.  He  recalled  the  case 
of  a  young  man  who  had  slipped  in  life,  and  had  spent 
several  years  in  prison.  Upon  his  release  he  determined 
to  redeem  the  past.  He  obtained  a  position  with  a  large 
firm,  and  was  giving  excellent  satisfaction  when  several 
human  vultures  recognised  him,  and  with  hypocritical 
solicitude  informed  the  manager  about  the  young  man's 
past  life.  The  result  was  that  he  was  discharged.  The 
same  thing  occurred  wherever  he  went,  until,  broken  in 
spirit,  he  gave  up  the  fight,  and  drifted  into  evil  ways. 
He  knew  the  people  who  had  wrecked  that  young  man's 
after  life,  and  they  firmly  believed  that  they  were  doing 
the  Lord 's  work. 

This  he  well  knew  would  be  true  in  his  own  case. 
There  would  be  some  who  would  recognise  him  as  the 
outcast  clergyman,  and  who  would  consider  it  their 
unctuous  duty  to  tell  all  they  knew.  Of  course  he  and 
Nance  could  go  to  some  place  far  off,  away  from  the 


THE  EDGE  OF  EVENTS  105 

scene  of  his  disgrace.  But  even  there  he  would  not  feel 
secure.  The  world  was  small  in  these  days  of  easy 
travel,  and  he  might  find  it  hard  to  escape  unknown. 
The  gold  would  supply  all  their  needs.  His  only  worry 
was  as  to  how  he  could  take  so  much  outside.  It  would 
be  very  difficult  to  carry  it  without  arousing  suspicion. 

^While  Martin  was  thus  musing,  Nance  had  cleared  off 
the  table,  washed  the  dishes,  and  put  them  carefully 
away.  When  all  had  been  completed,  she  drew  the  big 
chair  up  close  to  the  fire.  Then,  going  to  where  Martin 
was  sitting,  she  laid  her  hand  affectionately  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"Come,  daddy,"  she  said,  "your  chair  is  all  ready. 
It's  more  comfortable  there." 

Martin  obeyed  her  without  a  word.  Nance  at  once 
took  up  her  position  on  a  little  stool  at  his  feet,  and 
rested  her  left  arm  upon  his  knee.  For  some  time  she 
gazed  steadily  into  the  fire  without  speaking.  Martin, 
too,  was  silent  as  he  sat  there  smoking  away  at  his  pipe. 

"Daddy,"  Nance  after  a  time  began,  "you  are  not  my 
real  father,  are  you  ? ' ' 

"No,  little  one,  I  am  not,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "You 
knew  that,  didn  't  you  ?  But  I  've  been  a  father  to  you, 
have  I  not?" 

"Yes,  and  a  mother,  too.  But  I  do  long  to  know  about 
my  real  father  and  mother.  When  I  was  little  you  told 
me  that  you  would  take  me  to  them  some  day.  I  believed 
that  then,  but  as  I  grew  older  I  felt  there  was  some  rea- 
son why  you  did  not  do  so.  I  have  often  longed  for  you 
to  tell  me  the  whole  truth,  but  I  was  afraid  to  ask  you. ' ' 

"What  were  you  afraid  of,  Nance?  That  I  wouldn't 
tell  you,  eh?" 


106  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

"No,  not  that.  You  see,  I  looked  forward  so  long  to 
meeting  them  that  I  used  to  dream  about  it  by  night, 
and  think  about  it  by  day.  Then  it  came  slowly  to  me 
that  they  were  dead.  At  first  I  put  away  the  thought, 
but  it  grew  stronger  and  stronger  the  older  I  became. 
And  then  I  was  afraid  to  know  the  truth,  because  the  old 
hope  of  meeting  them  some  day  had  taken  such  a  hold 
upon  me.  Now  I  want  to  know  all. ' ' 

"I  did  it  for  the  best,  Nance,"  Martin  replied. 
"When  you  were  little  I  knew  that  it  would  give  you 
much  sorrow  if  I  told  you  all.  Then  as  you  grew  older 
I  found  it  difficult  to  tell  you,  and  as  you  did  not  speak 
to  me  about  them  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  had  for- 
gotten. I  did  it  for  the  best.  Now  I  know  that  I  should 
have  told  you." 

' '  I  know  you  did ;  I  am  sure  of  it, ' '  and  Nance  turned 
her  eyes  up  to  Martin's.  "You  always  do  everything 
for  the  best.  You  are  so  good. ' ' 

At  these  words  a  slight  mistiness  rose  before  Martin's 
eyes.  If  she  only  knew,  he  said  to  himself,  how  differ- 
ently she  would  think.  But  to  Nance  he  only  said : 

"Yes,  I  shall  tell  you  all  now,  for  you  are  a  woman, 
and  can  understand  such  things. ' ' 

Then  Martin  unfolded  to  Nance  the  sad  scene  which 
had  taken  place  on  the  great  Mackenzie  River  years  be- 
fore. He  told  her  about  the  accident  which  had  de- 
prived her  of  father  and  mother,  and  left  her  to  the 
mercy  of  the  Indians.  He  related  simply  the  part  that 
he  himself  had  performed  in  caring  for  her,  and  carry- 
ing her  off  into  the  wilderness. 

To  all  this  Nance  listened  with  fast-beating  heart. 
Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  caused  not  by  the  heat  of  the 


THE  EDGE  OF  EVENTS  107 

fire,  but  from  the  vehemence  of  her  emotion.  When 
Martin  spoke  about  her  mother  lying  so  white  and  still 
in  the  Indian  lodge  her  eyes  grew  moist.  But  when  he 
mentioned  the  grave  upon  the  hill-top  tears  streamed 
down  her  cheeks,  and  her  form  trembled  violently. 

"There,  there,  little  one,"  Martin  soothed,  laying  his 
hand  affectionately  upon  her  head,  "I  didn't  mean  to 
make  you  feel  so  badly. ' ' 

"I  know  you  didn't,  daddy,"  Nance  sobbed.  "But  I 
cannot  help  it.  My  poor  father  and  mother !  And  only 
think  what  would  have  become  of  me  if  you  had  not  been 
there!  I  might  have  lived  the  rest  of  my  life  among 
the  Indians  just  like  one  of  them.  It  makes  me 
shudder  when  I  think  about  it.  How  much,  I  owe  to 
you." 

"You  have  done  more  for  me,  Nance,  than  I  have 
ever  done  for  you. ' ' 

"For  you!"  Nance  exclaimed  in  astonishment. 
* '  Why,  what  have  I  done  for  you  ? ' ' 

"You  gave  me  new  life,  that  is  what  you  have  done. 
Before  I  found  you  no  one  loved  me,  and  I  had  no  one 
to  care  for.  I  was  a  lonely  man,  without  any  definite 
purpose  in  life.  But  since  you  came  I  have  had  you  to 
live  for.  You  are  all  I  have  now,  Nance." 

"I  have  often  wondered,"  Nance  replied,  "why  you 
ever  brought  me  here.  I  never  liked  to  ask  you,  but  I 
have  thought  about  it  very  much.  You  know  so  many 
things  about  the  world  outside,  and  all  that  it  means, 
that  it  must  have  been  hard  to  bury  yourself  away  in 
such  a  wilderness  place  as  this." 

As  Martin  made  no  immediate  reply  Nance  at  first 
thought  that  she  had  offended  him.  Seeing  the  expres- 


108  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

sion  of  pain  which  passed  over  his  face,  she  rose  quickly 
to  her  feet,  and  threw  her  arras  about  his  neck. 

"Forgive  me,  daddy,"  she  pleaded.  "I'm  so  sorry 
that  I  asked  that  question.  I  had  no  right  to  do  so. 
You  did  it  for  the  best,  I  am  sure." 

"Sit  down,  Nance,"  and  Martin  motioned  her  to  the 
stool.  "You  certainly  have  the  right  to  ask  why  I 
brought  you  here  and  kept  you  shut  up  in  such  a  place 
as  this  for  so  many  years.  But  how  can  I  answer  you? 
Something  caused  me  to  come  here,  but  just  what  it  was 
I  cannot  explain.  I  made  a  failure  in  life  years  ago, 
and  so  fled  into  the  wilderness  to  be  far  off  from  people 
who  knew  what  I  had  done.  To  them  I  am  a  bad  man. 
But,  oh,  Nance,  I  would  give  anything  to  be  what  I 
once  was !  How  happy  I  should  be  to  be  able  to  go  out 
into  the  world  and  not  shrink  back  from  the  looks  of 
men  and  women.  But  there,  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you 
this.  You  will  wonder  what  it  all  means. ' ' 

"Don't,  don't  talk  that  way,  daddy, ' '  and  Nance  placed 
her  hand  in  his  as  she  spoke.  "You  are  not  a  bad  man. 
I  don't  care  what  people  say  or  think.  They  do  not 
know  you  as  I  do.  If  they  knew  what  you  have  done 
for  me  all  of  these  years  they  would  think  differently. 
Anyway,  no  matter  what  people  say,  it  won 't  make  any 
difference  in  my  love  to  you.  Though  you  are  not  my 
real  father,  I  love  you  just  the  same." 

"I  know  it,  Nance;  I  know  it,"  Martin  huskily  re- 
plied, while  his  hand  closed  tight  upon  hers. 

"And,  daddy,"  Nance  returned,  "if  you  don't  want 
to  go  away  from  here,  I  shall  not  mind.  So  don't  let 
us  worry  any  more  about  it." 

"No,  Nance;  that  must  not  be.    It  will  be  for  the  best 


THE  EDGE  OF  EVENTS  109 

if  we  go  away.  I  have  been  thinking  it  all  over  very 
carefully  of  late.  "We  shall  go  out  to  the  trading  post 
next  summer,  in  time  to  go  south  on  the  first  steamer 
as  it  returns  from  its  northern  trip.  I  can  get  a  number 
of  Indians  to  pack  the  gold  over  the  mountain.  As  to 
the  future,  we  can  talk  about  that  again.  Come  now, 
let  us  have  some  music  together,  and  banish  all  sad 
thoughts." 

Thus  in  the  cosy  cabin  before  the  bright  fire  Martin 
and  Nance  played  upon  their  beloved  instruments.  The 
storm  continued  to  rage  outside,  but  they  heeded  it  not. 
Forgotten  for  a  while  were  their  worries,  and  what  the 
future  might  have  in  store  did  not  trouble  them.  The 
music  cheered  them,  and  united  their  hearts  with  the 
strong  bands  of  enduring  affection. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE  LAP  OF   TO-MORROW 

storms  of  winter  were  over,  and  the  days  were 
-I  rapidly  lengthening.  The  sun  rode  higher  in  the 
heavens,  and  the  breath  of  spring  was  pervading  the 
great  northland.  Nance  was  much  excited  at  the  thought 
of  leaving  the  Quaska  valley  and  passing  beyond  the 
mountains  to  the  marvellous  world  outside.  She  dwelt 
upon  it  by  day  and  dreamed  of  it  by  night.  Her  few 
scanty  belongings  she  had  carefully  gathered  together. 
These  she  would  take  with  her.  But  when  out  in  the 
big  cities  she  would  buy  many  wonderful  things  for 
which  her  heart  longed. 

Martin  noted  her  animation,  and  listened  quietly  as 
she  talked  about  the  journey  they  were  to  make,  and 
what  nice  times  they  would  have  seeing  the  strange 
sights.  Although  he  was  pleased  to  see  Nance  so  happy, 
his  heart,  nevertheless,  was  heavy.  To  him  the  idea  of 
mingling  once  again  with  the  throbbing  world  of  hu- 
manity brought  no  joy.  The  little  cabin  in  the  wilder- 
ness was  very  dear  to  him.  Here  he  had  spent  the  past 
twelve  years,  hidden  from  people  of  his  own  race  and 
immune  from  the  bitter  tongues  of  men  and  women. 
The  lake,  river,  forest,  and  mountains  were  friends  true 
and  tried.  He  loved  them,  and  their  varying  moods 

110 


THE  LAP  OF  TO-MORROAV  111 

drew  him  very  close  to  them.  He  had  watched  and 
studied  them  so  often,  both  in  calm  and  storm,  that  he 
wondered  how  he  ctfuld  get  along  without  them.  The 
Indians,  too,  though  rough  and  uncouth,  had  been  kind 
neighbors.  He  disliked  their  manner  of  living  and  their 
improvident  ways.  Yet  they  had  always  been  good  to 
him  and  to  Nance,  and  he  should  greatly  miss  them. 
Thus  he  would  sit  at  night,  long  after  Nance  had  gone 
to  bed,  smoking  and  thinking  about  the  changes  which 
were  soon  to  take  place  in  his  life. 

He  was  seated  one  evening  before  the  fire  with  Nance 
by  his  side,  when  the  door  of  the  cabin  was  gently  pushed 
open,  and  Taku  glided  into  the  room.  He  was  given  a 
hearty  welcome,  and  Martin  passed  over  his  tobacco  as 
soon  as  the  native  had  squatted  himself  upon  the  floor. 
When  Taku  had  filled  his  pipe,  and  clouds  of  smoke  were 
circling  above  his  head,  an  expression  of  satisfaction 
overspread  his  honest,  dusky  face. 

' '  Snow  all  go  soon, "  he  at  length  remarked.  ' '  Geese, 
duck  all  come  back.  Plenty  grub  den." 

' '  How  long  before  the  ice  goes  out  this  year  ? ' '  Martin 
asked. 

"Beeg  moon,  leetle  moon,  moon  all  go.  Ice  go  also," 
was  the  reply. 

"In  about  one  month,  eh?" 

"Ah,  ah." 

' '  Good  fishing  this  year  ? ' '  Martin  inquired. 

"Good  feesh?  Ah,  ah,  mebbe  so.  Taku  no  feesh," 
and  the  Indian  shook  his  head. 

"What,  not  going  to  do  any  fishing!" 

"No.  Taku  go  down  ribber.  Taku  see  white  man. 
Taku  get  moche." 


112  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

' '  Oh,  I  see.  But  are  you  sure  that  the  white  men  are 
there?  Maybe  they  all  went  away  last  fall." 

Again  Taku  shook  his  head,  and  gazed  thoughtfully 
into  the  fire. 

"White  man  no  go,"  he  at  last  explained.  "Taku  see 
two  wan  sleep  ago." 

"What!  You  saw  two  white  men?"  Martin  ex- 
claimed, now  much  aroused. 

"Ah,  ah." 

"Where?" 

"Down  ribber." 

"What,  the  Heena?" 

The  Indian  nodded. 

"And  what  were  the  white  men  doing  on  the  river?" 

"Trabblin',  dat's  all,  pack  on  back.  Taku  see  'um. 
Dey  in  hurry.  Dey  tell  Taku  come  down  to  beeg  rib- 
Ber." 

"Didn't  they  tell  you  where  they  had  come  from  or 
what  they  were  doing  in  here?"  Martin  questioned. 

"No,  dey  tell  nottin'.    Dey  in  beeg  hurry;  dat's  all." 

' '  Did  they  tell  you  what  they  wanted  you  for,  Taku  ? ' ' 

"No." 

"And  you  will  go?" 

"Ah,  ah." 

"When?" 

"Wan  sleep.    Tak'  dog  also.    Go  queeck." 

Martin  sat  up  later  than  usual  this  night,  as  his  mind 
was  much  disturbed.  Nance  saw  that  something  waa 
troubling  him,  so  she  did  not  ask  for  the  customary 
evening  music.  She  kissed  him  as  she  had  done  for 
years,  and  went  to  her  own  little  room. 

Early  next  morning  Martin  announced  that  he  was 


THE  LAP  OF  TO-MORROW  113 

going  up  stream,  and  might  be  gone  all  day.  He  left 
Nance  standing  in  the  doorway,  looking  inquiringly 
after  him. 

"I  will  tell  you  all  about  it,  Nance,  when  I  come 
back,"  he  called  to  her  as  she  waved  him  good-bye. 

It  was  supper  time  ere  Martin  returned,  and  over 
the  meal  he  explained  the  object  of  his  visit  up  the 
river. 

' '  It 's  just  what  I  thought,  Nance, ' '  he  began.  ' '  When 
Taku  told  us  about  those  two  white  men  I  had  my  sus- 
picion, and  I  was  right.  They  were  prospectors,  and 
have  discovered  the  gold  up  the  Quaska. " 

* '  Oh ! "  It  was  all  that  Nance  said  as  she  looked  in- 
quiringly across  the  table. 

"Yes,"  Martin  continued,  "I  suspected  something, 
and  made  up  my  mind  to  visit  my  old  diggings.  There 
were  faded  footprints  all  around,  and  I  found  where  the 
men  had  shovelled  away  the  snow  and  examined  the  hole 
I  had  made.  Of  course,  as  you  know,  the  earth  I  left 
is  full  of  gold,  so  they  must  have  found  enough  in  the 
frozen  ground  to  more  than  satisfy  them.  I  saw  the 
little  brush  lean-to  where  they  had  evidently  camped, 
showing  that  they  must  have  been  there  several  days.  I 
tracked  them  down-stream,  and  learned  that  they  had 
been  close  to  our  house.  Why  they  did  not  call,  I  can- 
not tell.  Perhaps  they  were  unaware  that  white  people 
lived  here.  They  turned  off  sharply  to  the  left,  and 
either  crossed  the  lake  or  went  around  the  other  side, 
and  came  out  upon  the  river  farther  down." 

"Do  you  think  that  they  will  come  back?"  Nance 
inquired. 

"Come  back!    Indeed  they  will,  and  bring  a  regular 


114  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

crazy  mob  with  them.  It  isn't  every  day  that  men 
make  such  a  strike  as  that.  As  soon  as  those  men  record 
what  they  have  found  there  will  be  the  greatest  stam- 
pede the  world  has  ever  seen." 

"Will  they  wait  until  the  river  is  open,  do  you 
think?"  Nance  asked.  "We  may  be  away  soon  after- 
wards, and  so  they  will  not  trouble  us." 

' '  No,  they  won 't  wait,  Nance.  They  will  come  at  once, 
and  many  of  them,  no  doubt,  will  die  upon  the  way. 
There  is  no  trail,  and  the  ice  in  the  river  is  getting 
weak.  I've  heard  about  such  stampedes.  Men  seem  to 
go  about  crazy.  They  start  off  with  little  food,  some 
get  hurt,  others  sick,  and  numbers  just  play  out.  It  is 
wonderful  to  me  what  men  will  endure  for  the  sake  of 
gold." 

Almost  three  weeks  later  what  Martin  had  foretold 
came  to  pass.  The  vanguard  of  the  prospectors  and 
miners  arrived.  It  was  early  morning  when  men  were 
observed  making  their  way  slowly  along  the  shore  of 
the  lake.  They  bore  packs  upon  their  backs,  and  leaned 
much  forward.  Each  carried  a  stick,  which  he  used  as 
a  cane.  They  all  passed  close  to  the  cabin,  so  Martin 
and  Nance  could  see  them  quite  plainly.  They  did  not 
turn  aside  to  rest,  but  moved  steadily  onward.  They 
seemed  to  be  very  weary,  and  their  clothes  were  ripped 
and  torn.  They  passed,  and,  later,  others  came.  Several 
were  limping  painfully,  which  told  of  swollen  and  blis- 
tered feet.  They,  too,  passed  without  stopping.  Then 
far  down  the  shore  of  the  lake  a  struggling  line  ap- 
peared, and  as  they  drew  near  and  staggered  by,  the 
watchers  from  the  cabin  were  moved  to  deep  pity. 

"Look  at  that  old  man  with  the  white  beard!"  Nance 


THE  LAP  OF  TO-MORROW  115 

exclaimed.  ' '  Why,  he  can  hardly  walk,  and  that  young 
man  by  his  side  is  supporting  him  and  helping  him  along. 
They  must  be  father  and  son." 

She  had  barely  finished  speaking  when  the  old  man 
fell  heavily  forward.  With  a  cry  that  could  be  heard 
within  the  cabin,  the  young  man  knelt  by  his  side,  and 
endeavoured  to  lift  him  to  his  feet.  No  one  stopped  to 
help  him,  but  all  brushed  by  and  hurried  on.  The  gold 
was  ahead,  and  they  must  not  delay.  They  had  wit- 
nessed numerous  cases  such  as  this  since  leaving  the 
great  river,  one  hundred  and  forty  miles  away,  and 
their  hearts  had  become  hardened  to  such  sights. 

With  the  watchers  in  the  cabin,  however,  it  was  dif- 
ferent. No  sooner  had  the  man  fallen  than  Martin 
bounded  across  the  room,  flung  open  the  door,  and  hur- 
ried out  into  the  open.  The  young  man  was  astonished 
to  see  aid  in  the  form  of  a  white  man  emerge  from  a 
building,  which  he  had  supposed  contained  only  natives. 
"Come/'  Martin  ordered,  "give  me  a  hand,  and  we'll 
carry  him  up  to  the  house. ' ' 

Lifting  the  helpless  man  in  their  arms,  they  bore  him 
swiftly  and  gently  up  the  slope.  Nance  was  standing 
holding  open  the  door  as  they  drew  near,  and  when  the 
sufferer  had  been  laid  upon  Martin's  cot  she  came  close 
and  stood  by  his  side.  She  noted  how  worn  and  haggard 
was  the  man's  face,  while  his  eyes  shone  with  an  un- 
natural light.  His  hair  was  white  and  long,  and  his 
beard  fell  in  profusion  upon  his  breast.  He  was  a  pow- 
erfully-built man,  and  the  cot  upon  which  he  was  lying 
was  too  short  for  him.  He  kept  tossing  his  arms  wildly 
about,  and  made  several  attempts  to  rise,  but  always  fell 
back  panting  heavily  after  each  exertion. 


116  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"I  must  get  there!"  he  cried.  "Don't  stop  me! 
The  rest  will  be  ahead  of  me.  Fer  God's  sake,  let  me 
go!" 

At  these  words  the  young  man  bent  over  him,  and 
placed  his  right  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"Hush,  hush,  Tom,"  he  commanded.  "Everything 
will  be  all  right.  Be  quiet  and  rest  a  while." 

The  vacant  expression  in  the  old  man's  eyes  suddenly 
cleared,  and  he  looked  eagerly  up. 

"Is  it  much  farther,  pard?"  he  asked.  "Are  we  al- 
most there?" 

The  young  man  turned  inquiringly  to  Martin  stand- 
ing near. 

' '  Can  you  answer  him  ? "  he  asked. 

"It's  not  far,"  Martin  replied.  "But  it's  too  far  for 
this  man  in  his  present  condition." 

"Is  there  anything  there?"  the  young  man  asked. 
"Is  the  ground  rich?" 

"Rich!  There's  gold  everywhere.  The  ground  is  full 
of  it." 

The  old  man  heard  these  words,  and  attempted  to 
rise. 

"Help  me  up,"  he  cried.  "I  must  go!  D'ye  hear 
what  he  says?  The  ground  is  full  of  gold.  Give  me 
yer  hand,  pard,  an'  help  me  out  of  this." 

"No,  no,  Tom;  you  can't;  you're  not  able,"  the 
young  man  insisted,  pushing  him  gently  back. 

"I  can't!  "Why  can't  I?  Why  should  I  stay  here 
an'  let  the  others  get  all  the  gold?  I've  been  rustlin* 
fer  gold  all  me  life,  an'  d'ye  think  I'll  be  baulked  when 
it 's  so  near  ?  Let  me  up,  I  say. ' ' 

"But  you  know,  Tom,  it's  impossible,"  the  young  man 


THE  LAP  OP  TO-MORROW  117 

urged.  "You're  all  in.  You  should  never  have  come 
on  this  trip  at  all." 

' '  I  shouldn  't !    Why  shouldn  't  I  ?    I  'm  not  a  baby. ' ' 

"But  think  how  sick  you  were  at  Rapid  City.  Why, 
man,  you  got  out  of  bed  to  come,  and  would  listen  to 
no  advice.  It's  a  wonder  to  me  that  you're  not  dead. 
What  kept  you  up  for  days  on  that  trail  is  more  than 
I  can  understand." 

"It  was  the  gold  that  did  it,  ha,  ha,"  and  the  old 
man 's  eyes  glowed  with  the  intense  light  of  the  enthusi- 
ast. "Yes,  the  gold '11  cure  all  sickness  in  my  body.  It 
always  has.  Didn't  dozens  of  chaps  play  right  out, 
while  I  came  through?  Yes,  an'  by  God,  I'll  go  on, 
too,  an'  won't  be  stuck  here.  I'll  stake  my  claim  with 
the  rest.  I  've  never  been  beaten,  an '  won 't  now ! ' ' 

"Now,  look  here,  Tom.  Don't  you  worry  about  that 
claim  you  hope  to  stake.  I  '11  stake  it  for  you,  so  it  will 
be  all  right." 

"But  you  can't  stake  two,  pard." 

"No,  and  I  don't  intend  to  try.  I  didn't  come  here 
to  stake  a  claim.  But  as  you  are  not  able  to  do  it,  there's 
nothing  else  for  me  to  do  but  take  your  place,  see?" 

"But " 

"There,  that  will  do,  Tom,"  and  the  young  man's 
voice  was  firm ;  "  I  won 't  listen  to  anything  more.  You 
can't  go,  that's  certain,  and  I  won't  help  you.  I'm 
going  in  your  place.  You  stay  here,  keep  quiet,  and 
don't  worry.  I  will  come  back  as  soon  as  I  can,  and 
report. ' ' 

The  young  man  turned  away  from  the  cot,  and  as 
he  did  so  he  caught  sight  of  Nance  near  the  fire-place. 
He  had  not  noticed  her  before  so  much  taken  up  had 


118  IP  ANY  MAN  SIN 

he  been  with  his  stricken  companion.  But  now  he  stood 
looking  with  wonder  at  the  woman  before  him.  The 
table  was  set  ready  for  breakfast.  The  cloth  was  spot- 
less, and  the  dishes  were  all  neatly  arranged.  Nance 
had  just  stooped  to  lift  the  tea-pot,  where  it  was  warm- 
ing before  the  coals,  as  the  young  man  turned  and  saw 
her.  The  light  of  the  fire  brought  into  clear  relief  her 
graceful  figure,  adding  at  the  same  time  a  charm  to  her 
face  and  well-poised  head  such  as  he  had  never  seen 
before.  He  stood  spellbound  for  a  few  seconds,  wonder- 
ing where  she  could  have  dropped  from.  He  had  never 
expected  to  find  such  a  beautiful  being  in  this  wilder- 
ness region.  He  even  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes 
to  make  sure  that  it  was  not  a  vision  which  would  imme- 
diately vanish.  Then  he  glanced  around  the  room,  and 
was  still  further  surprised  at  the  books  so  neatly  ar- 
ranged against  the  wall.  He  longed  to  cross  over  and 
examine  them,  as  he  was  hungry  for  reading  matter  of 
any  kind. 

As  he  stood  thus  Martin  approached. 

' '  Come,  young  man, ' '  he  remarked ;  ' '  you  must  have 
something  to  eat  before  you  start  up  river.  Breakfast 
is  all  ready,  so  if  you  care  to  put  up  with  our  humble 
fare,  you  are  more  than  welcome." 

The  man  addressed  turned  a  pair  of  grateful  brown 
eyes  upon  Martin's  face. 

"Humble,  do  you  say!"  he  replied  with  a  laugh. 
"Do  you  call  that  humble,  sir?  "Why,  I  have  not  seen 
anything  half  so  good  as  that  steak  for  months.  And  as 
for  bread,  I  don't  know  when  I  have  tasted  a  scrap. 
Hard-tack,  and  mighty  little  of  that,  has  been  the  near- 
est I  have  had  to  bread  since  last  year.  And  as  to  sit- 


THE  LAP  OF  TO-MORROW  119 

ting  down  to  a  table  with  a  white  cloth  upon  it,  and 
such  dishes  as  you  have  here,  is  most  unusual  in  this 
country.  Why,  this  is  a  palace.  It  is  certainly  good 
of  you  to  invite  me  to  such  a  feast  as  this,  for  I  am.  very 
hungry.  But  with  your  permission  I  shall  feed  Tom 
first,  for  he  is  about  starved." 

Martin  liked  the  appearance  and  the  voice  of  the 
stranger.  He  had  such  an  honest  face,  almost  boyish  in 
appearance.  His  eyes  were  expressive  of  sympathy  and 
fun.  His  tall,  erect  figure  was  clad  in  a  rough  buck- 
skin suit,  a  belt  encircled  his  waist,  while  his  feet  were 
encased  in  the  rough  miner's  boots  laced  halfway  to  the 
knees.  Over  his  right  shoulder  extended  a  strap,  sup- 
porting at  his  side  a  black  leather  case. 

"Pardon  me,"  Martin  remarked,  suddenly  realising 
his  position  as  host;  "this  is  my — my  daughter,  Nance, 
Nance  Rutland.  I  fear  I  have  been  neglecting  my 
duty." 

The  young  man  at  once  stepped  forward,  and  held 
out  his  hand. 

"This  is  certainly  more  than  I  expected,  Miss  Rut- 
land, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  I  had  no  idea  that  there  was  such 
a  house  as  this  out  here.  It  is  a  great  treat  to  meet  a 
white  woman,  especially,"  he  continued  with  a  smile, 
' '  when  one  is  starving.  I  have  been  doing  my  own  cook- 
ing for  months,  and  am  thoroughly  tired  of  it." 

"You  had  better  wait  until  you  know  what  my  cook- 
ing is  like,"  Nance  replied,  as  she  took  her  place  at  the 
head  of  the  table. 

She  tried  to  be  calm,  but  her  heart  kept  beating  very 
fast,  and  she  knew  that  her  cheeks  were  flushed  more 
than  they  should  be.  She  instinctively  felt  that  this 


120  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

stranger  was  a  gentleman,  and  she  wished  to  do  what 
was  proper  in  his  presence,  and  not  seem  confused. 
But  her  hand  trembled  as  she  poured  the  tea,  and  she 
could  not  trust  herself  to  speak  lest  she  should  make 
some  foolish  blunder.  She  tried  to  imagine  how  Beryl 
would  act  on  such  an  occasion,  and  what  she  would  say. 

There  was  little  need  for  words,  however,  on  her  part. 
Martin  and  the  stranger  talked,  so  she  was  content  to 
listen.  The  young  man  told  about  his  own  experience 
and  that  of  the  others  on  their  wild  stampede  into  the 
Quaska  valley.  He  drew  a  pathetic  picture  of  the  hard- 
ships and  sufferings  which  were  endured,  and  how  many 
became  discouraged  and  turned  back.  He  told  of  the 
humorous  side  as  well,  and  related  several  stories  of  an 
amusing  nature. 

"If  I  were  only  an  artist,"  he  concluded,  "or  if  I 
had  a  camera  along,  I  should  have  been  able  to  obtain 
some  excellent  pictures." 

* '  I  thought  that  black  case  contained  a  camera, ' '  Mar- 
tin replied.  "I  am  quite  relieved,  for  I  was  afraid  lest 
you  should  snap  our  cabin  and  force  Nance  and  me  to 
undergo  the  same  ordeal." 

"Nothing  would  please  me  better,"  the  visitor 
laughed,  glancing  toward  Nance.  "But  it's  not  as  seri- 
ous as  that.  It's  only  a  simple  medical  case  I  always 
carry  with  me.  I've  had  to  use  it  quite  often  since 
leaving  Rapid  City." 

"You're  a  medical  man,  then — a  doctor,"  Martin  re- 
turned. 

"I  suppose  I  am,  and  back  at  old  McGill  I'm  re- 
corded as  an  M.D.,  and  the  men  will  persist  in  calling 
me  'Doc.'  But  I  like  to  be  called  just  'Dick,'  without 


THE  LAP  OF  TO-MORROW  121 

any  handle.  Dick  Russell  is  my  name,  by  the  way. 
'Mr.'  and  'Doctor'  make  one  feel  so  old,  but  just  Dick 
sounds  fine  to  my  ears.  But,  say, ' '  he  added  in  a  lower 
voice,  "you  won't  mind  looking  after  Tom,  will  you? 
He's  all  gold,  but  knocked  out  just  now.  He's  a  charac- 
ter all  by  himself,  true  as  steel,  and  full  of  fun.  He's 
been  the  life  of  the  camp  down  river  all  winter.  I 
must  be  off  now,  but  would  you  let  me  sleep  here  on  the 
floor  to-night  if  I  should  come  back  ? ' ' 

"Sure,"  Martin  replied.  "You're  welcome  to  the 
best  we  have,  and  you'll  need  it,  too,  I'm  thinking." 

Telling  Tom  to  keep  up  courage,  and  with  a  good-by 
and  a  wave  of  the  hand  to  Martin  and  Nance  standing 
at  the  door,  the  young  man  swung  away  from  the  cabin 
toward  the  trail,  leading  along  the  Quaska  River. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  SUPPLANTEB 

NANCE  stood  for  a  while  in  the  doorway,  and 
watched  the  retreating  form  of  Dick  Russell  as 
it  disappeared  among  the  trees.  She  then  turned  back 
into  the  room,  while  Martin  went  off  to  cut  some  wood 
for  the  fire.  The  house  seemed  very  lonely  now  to  Nance 
and  strangely  silent.  It  had  never  appeared  so  before, 
and  Nance  could  not  understand  the  reason.  She  went 
about  her  work  of  washing  the  dishes  and  looking  after 
the  room,  but  her  thoughts  were  elsewhere.  Her  mind 
dwelt  continually  upon  the  stranger  who  had  come  so 
suddenly  into  her  life.  She  wondered  who  he  was,  and 
what  he  was  doing  in  the  country.  He  did  not  come  to 
stake  a  claim  for  himself,  so  she  had  heard  him  say. 
What,  then,  was  his  purpose  in  making  the  journey 
over  such  a  terrible  trail  at  this  season  of  the  year? 
She  longed  to  talk  the  matter  over  with  Martin  when 
he  came  in  with  the  wood,  but  for  the  first  time  in  her 
young  life  she  found  it  most  difficult  to  confide  in  the 
man  who  had  done  so  much  for  her.  Several  times  dur- 
ing the  morning  she  was  on  the  point  of  speaking,  but 
on  each  occasion  her  lips  refused  to  fashion  the  words, 
and  she  became  so  confused  that  she  was  certain  Martin 
•would  notice  her  flushed  cheeks. 

122 


THE  SUPPLANTER  123 

And  Martin  did  notice,  although  he  said  nothing.  He 
observed  Nance's  qiiiet  and  preoccupied  manner,  which 
was  so  different  from  her  bright  and  buoyant  disposi- 
tion. He  partly  surmised  the  cause,  and  it  pressed  heav- 
ily like  a  great  weight  upon  his  heart.  He  understood 
how  natural  it  was  that  Nance,  who  had  never  met  white 
men  before,  should  consider  this  stranger  in  the  light  of 
a  hero.  He  knew  how  impulsive  was  her  nature,  and 
how  ready  was  her  heart  to  respond  to  the  call  of  love. 
Had  she  been  brought  up  to  the  ways  of  the  busy  world, 
and  had  met  people  of  her  own  age  and  race,  she  would, 
like  other  maidens  of  her  years,  not  have  been  so  stirred 
by  the  presence  of  this  stranger.  But  no  one  had  ever 
told  her  about  the  subtle  ways  of  the  heart.  She  was 
a  child  of  the  wilderness,  brought  up  to  live  and  com- 
mune with  nature.  Martin  had  taught  her  book  knowl- 
edge and  much  about  the  things  of  the  civilised  world. 
But  of  the  deep  passions  of  the  heart  he  had  been  silent, 
and  Nance,  though  now  a  woman  in  years,  was  in  many 
ways  but  a  mere  child. 

Martin  thought  of  these  things  now  as  he  had  never 
done  before.  Nance  was  all  that  he  had  in  the  world, 
and  he  had  fondly  cherished  the  idea  that  she  would 
always  be  with  him  to  care  for  him  and  to  love  him. 
But  now  he  realised  that  he  was  to  be  supplanted,  and 
by  a  stranger  at  that,  a  mere  stripling,  whom  Nance  had 
seen  for  only  one  hour.  It  was  but  natural  that  a  spirit 
of  resentment  should  rise  in  his  heart  as  he  thought  of 
these  things. 

All  through  the  morning,  and  for  most  of  the  after- 
noon, Tom,  the  white-haired  and  long-bearded  old  man, 
slept  upon  the  cot.  It  was  a  sound,  natural  sleep,  and 


124  IP  ANY  MAN  SIN 

at  times  Nance  went  over  and  stood  by  his  side.  His 
face  strongly  appealed  to  her.  Lines  of  care  furrowed 
his  brow,  and  his  cheeks  were  very  wan.  Occasionally 
as  she  watched  him.  a  smile  would  play  about  the  cor- 
ners of  his  mouth  as  if  his  dreams  were  pleasant.  Nance 
wondered  if  he  had  any  one  who  thought  of  him  in  love, 
and  whom  he  loved  in  return. 

Toward  evening  the  old  man  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw 
Nance  standing  by  his  side.  He  started  up  in  surprise. 

"Nell,  Nell,  is  that  you?"  he  demanded. 

Then  seeing  the  look  of  astonishment  upon  Nance's 
face,  he  sank  back  upon  the  pillow,  while  a  deep  sigh 
escaped  his  lips. 

"Fergive  me,  Miss,"  he  said.  "I  had  sich  a  beautiful 
dream,  an'  when  I  opened  my  eyes  an'  saw  you 
a-standin'  there  I  was  sure  it  was  my  Nell." 

"Would  you  like  to  see  her?"  Nance  asked.  "Would 
you  like  for  her  to  be  standing  by  your  side  now  ?  How 
you  must  miss  her." 

"I  do,  I  do,"  was  the  emphatic  reply.  "God  alone 
knows  how  I  long  f er  her ! ' ' 

"Can't  you  go  to  her,  then?  Or  why  doesn't  she 
come  to  you?" 

"That  can't  be,  Miss.  It's  been  twenty  years  since 
she  left  me,  an'  I've  been  wanderin'  ever  since.  I  laid 
her  in  the  little  churchyard  way  back  East,  an '  I  haven 't 
seen  the  spot  since.  But  I  see  her  in  a  way,  an'  that's 
all  I  can  expect  on  this  earth  now.  She's  ever  with  me 
day  an'  night.  Out  in  the  hills  she's  by  my  side,  an'  I 
often  talk  to  her  jist  like  I  used  to  do  years  ago,  an*  it's 
very  comfortin'." 

"W-was  she  your  daughter?"  Nance  queried. 


THE  SUPPLANTEB  125 

"No,  Miss.    She  was  my  wife." 

"Oh!" 

"Yes,"  the  old  man  continued  after  a  pause,  "she 
was  my  wife,  an*  we'd  been  married  scarce  one  year 
when  she  left  me." 

"Poor  man!"  Nance  soothed.  "How  hard  it  must 
have  been  for  you.  You  have  no  home,  then,  and  no 
one  to  love  you?" 

"Well,  I  can't  altogether  say  that,  Miss.  My  home  is 
wherever  night  overtakes  me,  but  it's  seldom  in  sich  a 
comfortable  place  as  this.  I  've  friends  a  plenty,  but  no 
one  to  care  fer  me  jist  like  Nell  used  to  do.  I  can't  ex- 
pect it.  People  have  about  as  much  as  they  can  do  to 
look  after  themselves  without  botherin'  about  an  old  man 
who  has  one  foot  in  the  grave." 

"But  you  must  get  very  sad  and  lonely  at  times," 
Nance  remarked. 

"I  do,  Miss;  I  certainly  do." 

"How  do  you  keep  so  cheerful,  then?" 

"How  d'ye  know  that  I  keep  cheerful?"  and  Tom 
looked  his  surprise. 

"Oh,  that  man  who  came  with  you  told  us  that 
you  were  the  life  of  the  camp  at  Rapid  City  last  win- 
ter." 

"Did  Dick  really  say  that,  Miss?  An*  did  he  tell  y« 
anything  about  himself?" 

"No." 

"Well,  that's  jist  like  'im.  But  I'll  teU  ye  some  day. 
It 's  gittin '  on  toward  night  now,  isn  't  it,  Miss  ?  I  think 
I'll  git  up  and  sit  by  yon  bright  fire  fer  a  while,  an7 
have  a  smoke.  Dick  should  be  back  soon. ' ' 

"Do  you  feel  better?"  Nance  asked. 


126  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

'Feel  fine.    That  sleep  was  jist  what  I  needed." 

"I  am.  so  glad,"  and  Nance's  eyes  beamed  with  happi- 
ness. ' '  I  shall  get  you  something  to  eat  at  once,  for  you 
must  be  very  hungry.  Daddy  will  be  home  soon,  and  he 
will  want  his  supper,  too." 

' '  I  am  hungry,  Miss,  f er  I  haven 't  had  a  good  square 
meal  since  I  left  the  river. ' ' 

Ensconced  in  Martin's  big  chair  to  the  right  of  the 
fire,  the  old  man  leaned  back  and  puffed  away  at  his 
blackened  pipe,  at  the  same  time  keeping  his  eyes  upon 
Nance  as  she  moved  quietly  about  the  room. 

"Ye  do  remind  me  of  my  Nell,"  he  at  length  re- 
marked, taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  blowing  a 
great  volume  of  smoke  into  the  air.  "She  was  about 
your  size,  an*  fixed  up  her  hair  in  the  same  way.  I  re- 
member how  I  used  to  sit  by  the  fire,  jist  as  I  am  now, 
when  the  day's  work  was  done,  an'  watch  her  gittin' 
supper.  This  certainly  does  remind  me  of  old  times." 

"How  happy  you  must  have  been,"  Nance  replied. 
"Have  you  been  in  this  northern  country  ever  since?" 

"Ah,  no.  I've  travelled  over  many  parts,  but  I  like 
this  the  best." 

"I  suppose  it's  the  gold  which  keeps  you  here.  I 
should  think  that  it  would  be  nicer  outside  where  you 
would  meet  more  people,  and  life  would  not  be  so  hard." 

"So  it  would  be,  Miss.  I  would  like  to  be  near  the 
place  where  my  Nell  is  lyin'.  But  one  needs  the  gold  to 
live  there,  an'  as  soon  as  I  git  it  I'm  a-goin'  to  hike 
back.  But  there,  I  don 't  know  as  if  the  gold  '11  make  me 
any  happier.  It's  the  searchin'  fer  it,  an'  the  findin' 
it,  that  gives  the  pleasure." 

"It  must  be  nice  outside,"  Nance  remarked.    "I  have 


THE  SUPPLANTER  127 

heard  so  much  about  the  many  things  there  that  I  should 
like  to  see  them." 

"Have  ye  never  been  outside,  Miss?"  Tom  asked  in 
surprise. 

"No,  I've  lived  all  my  life  in  the  wilderness." 

"What!  Ye  don't  say  so!  "Well,  I  declare!  If  that 
don't  beat  all!" 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  Martin  entered. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  sitting  up,"  he  began,  coming 
close  to  Tom.  ' '  How  are  you  feeling  now  ? ' ' 

"Great.  Never  felt  better  in  me  life.  An'  why 
shouldn't  I  with  sich  comforts  as  a  good  fire,  my  pipe, 
an '  yer  sweet  daughter  to  talk  to  me  an '  wait  upon  me  ? 
[We've  been  havin'  a  fine  time  together." 

"That's  good,"  Martin  returned.  "But  I  think  that 
supper  will  make  you  feel  better  still.  We  can  have  a 
pipe  together  afterwards.  It's  been  a  long  time  since 
I've  had  any  one  to  smoke  with  except  the  Indians." 

They  were  partly  through  with  the  meal  when  Dick 
returned.  He  looked  very  tired,  although  his  voice  was 
cheery  as  he  greeted  his  companion  of  the  trail. 

"It's  good  to  see  you  sitting  there,  Tom,"  he  said,  as 
he  took  the  seat  Nance  had  placed  for  him. 

"It's  the  lassie  who  has  done  the  trick,  pard,"  and 
Tom  jerked  his  head  toward  Nance.  "She's  the  cause 
of  my  sudden  return  to  health. ' ' 

Nance's  face  flushed,  not  so  much  because  of  Tom's 
words  as  from  the  eyes  of  the  young  man,  which  were 
turned  upon  her  with  gratitude. 

"Oh,  I  haven't  done  anything,"  she  replied,  as  she 
poured  out  a  cup  of  steaming  tea  for  Dick.  ' '  It  was  the 
sleep  that  did  it." 


128  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"Only  partly,  Miss;  only  partly,"  Tom  rejoined. 
"Sleep  an'  food  don't  do  everything  toward  makin'  one 
feel  that  life  is  worth  livin'.  Ah,  no.  An  old  man  like 
me  knows  a  thing  or  two.  But  say, ' '  and  he  turned  sud- 
denly toward  the  young  man  across  the  table,  ' '  how  did 
ye  make  out  up  stream,  pard  ? ' ' 

An  anxious  expression  came  into  Dick  Russell's  eyes. 
This  passed  almost  instantly,  however,  although  it  did 
not  escape  Tom's  searching  look. 

"I  got  along  fairly  well,  and  staked  a  claim  at  the 
very  edge  of  some  old  diggings  I  found  there.  How  the 
rest  happened  to  overlook  the-  place  I  cannot  under- 
stand. But  they  are  about  crazy  and  hardly  know  what 
they  are  doing." 

"Are  they  camping  up  there  to-night?"  Martin  asked. 

"I  can't  say  that  they  are  camping.  They  are  there 
for  the  night,  that's  sure.  But  they've  been  rushing 
about  like  mad  ever  since  they  reached  the  place.  They 
will  spend  the  night  on  the  ground  just  as  they  have 
been  doing  since  leaving  Rapid  City.  But  their  grub 
is  about  all  gone.  If  they  don't  get  some  from  the  In- 
dians they'll  be  in  a  bad  fix." 

"Dear  me!"  Tom  murmured. 

"The  Indians  can't  help  them  much,"  Martin  ex- 
plained. "They  are  living  from  hand  to  mouth  them- 
selves now.  They  generally  are  at  this  time  of  the 
year. ' ' 

"We  could  give  them  something  to  eat,  couldn't  we, 
daddy?"  and  Nance  looked  over  at  her  father. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  we  could  give  them  something,"  was 
the  reluctant  reply.  "But  we  haven't  enough  for  a 
crowd  of  hungry  men. ' ' 


THE  SUPPLANTER  129 

"Oh,  they'll  make  out  all  right,"  Dick  hastened  to 
explain.  "They  don't  know  to-night  what  they  are 
eating.  Hard-tack  and  roast  turkey  would  be  about  the 
same  thing  to  them.  When  I  left  they  were  sitting  about 
a  great  blazing  fire,  munching  the  scraps  of  food  they 
had  left.  They  are  clean  daft  over  the  discovery  of  that 
gold.  I  have  been  chuckling  to  myself  ever  since  I  left 
them  over  what  they  were  saying.  They  are  already 
planning  what  they  are  to  do  with  the  gold  when  they 
get  it.  One  intends  to  buy  a  ranch,  and  keep,  I  don't 
know  how  many,  horses  and  cattle.  Another  will  tour 
the  world.  Some  have  decided  to  go  back  to  the  big 
cities  to  live  in  fine  houses  they  expect  to  build.  But 
Dobson,  generally  known  as  '  Whiskey  Jack, '  is  going  on 
a  big  spree  just  as  soon  as  he  gets  outside." 

"Yes,  yes,  they'll  all  follow  Jack's  example,  I'm 
afraid,"  Tom  sadly  replied.  "I  know  their  kind  only 
too  well.  They  always  plan  big  things,  but  as  a  rule 

they  lose  it  all  in  whiskey,   gambling,  and But 

there,"  he  suddenly  broke  off,  "it  has  always  been  so, 
an'  what's  the  use  of  us  worryin'  about  it?" 

"But  some  one  must  worry,  Tom,"  was  Dick's  em- 
phatic reply.  "Too  many  say  the  same  thing.  But  I 
know  better.  I  never  saw  a  finer  lot  of  men  in  my  life. 
They  are  rough  at  times,  I  know.  There  are  a  few  who 
gave  us  trouble  last  winter,  but  most  of  them  were 
good  fellows  at  Rapid  City,  and  you  know  it." 

' '  Sure  thing,  pard,  sure  thing.  I  'm  not  denyin '  that. 
But  I  guess  it  was  you  who  kept  them  straight,  an* 
made  them  show  up  their  best  side." 

"What  about  yourself,  Tom?  You  had  a  big  hand  in 
the  whole  affair,  if  I  am  not  much  mistaken. ' ' 


130  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

Supper  ended,  Nance  began  to  clear  away  the  dishes. 
Martin  and  Tom  brought  forth  their  pipes  and  sat  down, 
before  the  fire  for  a  comfortable  chat. 

"You  men  smoke  away  to  your  hearts*  content,"  Dick 
laughed.  "I'm  going  to  help  with  the  dishes,  that  is,  if 
I  may,"  and  he  turned  to  Nance. 

"No,  no,  please,"  the  latter  hurriedly  replied.  "I 
can  do  them  quickly,  so  don't  you  bother  about 
them." 

"It's  no  bother,  I  assure  you.  But,  say,  what  shall  I 
call  you?" 

"Nance,  just  Nance,"  was  the  reply. 

"But  I  must  not  call  you  that.  It  wouldn't  be  right 
for  a  stranger  to  call  you  that.  Wouldn't  'Miss  Kut- 
land'  sound  better?" 

"No.  Please  call  me  Nance.  I  like  it  better,  and  I 
have  never  been  called  anything  else." 

"Very  well,  then,  Nance,"  Dick  laughed,  as  he  began 
to  clear  away  the  dishes.  "I  am  not  going  to  see  you 
doing  all  the  work  while  three  men  sit  lazily  before 
the  fire.  It  wouldn't  be  fair." 

"But  I  would  rather " 

"Let  him  alone,  Miss,"  Tom  interrupted.  "He's  a 
good  hand  at  sich  things,  an'  he'll  enjoy  the  job.  He 
can't  be  still  fer  two  minutes  at  a  time." 

Thus  while  Martin  and  Tom  smoked  and  talked  the 
two  young  people  looked  after  the  dishes.  Dick  did 
most  of  the  talking.  He  told  Nance  about  his  experi- 
ences at  Rapid  City  during  the  -past  winter.  At  some 
of  his  stories  Nance  laughed  heartily,  especially  when 
he  told  of  the  dogs  stealing  his  supper  one  night. 

"It  wasn't  very  funny  then,  I  assure  you,"  Dick  ex- 


THE  SUPPLANTER  131 

plained.    "But  perhaps  the  poor  dogs  needed  the  food 
more  than  I  did." 

By  the  time  the  dishes  were  washed,  wiped,  and  put 
away,  Dick  and  Nance  were  firm  friends,  and  somewhat 
reluctantly  they  joined  the  others  before  the  fire. 

"May  I  have  a  look  at  your  books,  sir?"  Dick  asked, 
turning  to  Martin.  "I've  had  my  eyes  upon  them  all 
the  evening." 

"Not  upon  the  books  alone,  eh,  pard?"  Tom  chuckled. 

"Look  at  them  to  your  heart's  content,"  Martin  re- 
plied. "My  library  is  very  small,  and  I  am  afraid  you 
will  find  but  little  there  to  interest  you." 

Dick  soon  returned,  bringing  with  him  three  small 
books. 

"I've  made  a  strike  to-night,"  he  exclaimed,  "which 
is  of  more  interest  to  me  than  the  gold  of  the  Quaska. 
Just  think,  here  I  have  Hazlitt's  'Table  Talk,'  Emer- 
son's 'Essays,*  and  Carlyle's  'Heroes  and  Hero  Wor- 
ship.' I  didn't  know  that  there  were  such  books  as 
these  anywhere  in  this  country,"  and  he  looked  curi- 
ously toward  Martin. 

"You  know  them,  then?"  the  latter  queried,  his  in- 
terest now  becoming  much  aroused  in  the  young  man. 

"Know  them!  I  should  say  I  do.  But  it  has  been 
years  since  I  read  them,  and  of  course  I  have  forgotten 
much.  It  will  all  come  back  again,  however,  for  one 
never  really  forgets.  May  I  take  Hazlitt  with  me  to- 
morrow? It  will  be  a  great  comfort,  and  I  shall  take 
good  care  of  it. ' ' 

"Ask  Nance,"  Martin  replied.  "We  are  co-partners. 
You  have  my  consent  to  take  the  book,  but  you  must  get 
hers  as  well." 


132  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"Have  you  read  these?"  Dick  asked  in  surprise,  turn- 
ing toward  the  young  woman  sitting  near  by. 

"Oh,  yes,"  was  the  blushing  reply.  "I  have  read 
them  all  several  times,  and  found  them  so  nice. ' ' 

"Now  jist  listen  to  that,  pard,"  Tom  spoke  up. 
"There's  something  like  a  woman  fer  ye.  I  don't  think 
ye'd  find  many  young  women  outside  readin'  sich  books. 
They'd  want  novels,  an'  sich  like." 

"I  think  I  should  like  novels,  too,"  Nance  replied. 
"I  have  heard  about  them,  and  they  must  be  nice." 

"You  are  better  off  without  many  of  the  novels  of 
to-day,"  Dick  returned.  "Such  books  as  these  have 
done  me  much  good.  I  read  as  many  as  I  could  while 
at  college,  but  of  late  years  I  have  had  little  oppor- 
tunity for  reading." 

"Did  you  read  such  books  as  these  when  you  were  at 
college?"  Martin  asked.  "I  was  of  the  opinion  that 
you  studied  only  medical  works. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  read  as  widely  as  possible,  especially  at  Kings, 
away  back  East,  before  I  went  to  McGill." 

As  Dick  uttered  these  words  Martin  gave  a  distinct 
start,  and  looked  searchingly  into  the  young  man's  face. 
The  mention  of  the  former  college  brought  to  his  mind 
many  thoughts.  He  himself  had  graduated  from  the 
same  Institution  years  before,  and  he  knew  that  it  was 
principally  a  divinity  college,  where  young  men  were 
trained  for  the  Ministry. 

"And  what  course  did  you  take  there?"  he  asked  as 
calmly  as  possible,  although  his  heart  beat  faster  than 
usual. 

"I  took  Arts  and  studied  Divinity,"  Dick  responded. 

"Then  you  are  a ?"    Martin  could  not  form  the 


THE  SUPPLANTEB  133; 

word.  A  strange  feeling  swept  upon  him.  He  sud- 
denly recalled  the  warning  of  his  old  bishop,  especially 
his  closing  words,  "The  Church  and  her  teaching  will 
follow  you  to  the  grave,  no  matter  to  what  part  of  the 
world  you  go." 

"He's  a  parson  as  well  as  a  doctor,  that's  what  he  is," 
Tom  explained,  noticing  his  host's  hesitation. 

Martin  rose  suddenly  to  his  feet,  picked  up  his  hat, 
and  silently  left  the  building.  Once  outside  he  stood 
as  if  uncertain  what  course  to  pursue.  Then  he  paced 
rapidly  up  and  down  before  the  house.  His  brain 
throbbed  and  beat  with  wild  emotions.  "And  has  it 
come  to  this?"  he  asked  himself.  "I  have  taken  in  a 
minion  of  the  Church ;  I  have  allowed  him  to  enter  my 
cabin  and  break  bread  with  me.  Had  I  known  who  he 
was  he  should  never  have  crossed  the  threshold.  And  he 
has  won  Nance's  heart  and  supplanted  me  in  her  affec- 
tions. And  to  think  that  I  have  kept  her  hidden  away 
here  all  of  these  years,  and  this  is  the  end!  But  no, 
by  God,  it  shall  not  be !  I  will  not  lose  her !  I  have  fled 
from  the  Church,  and  it  has  followed  me  into  the  wilder- 
ness, and  is  about  to  wrench  from  my  grasp  the  one 
who  is  dearer  to  me  than  life.  It  shall  not  be.  No 
longer  shall  that  man  remain  beneath  my  roof.  He 
came  here  under  the  guise  of  a  doctor.  Why  didn't 
he  say  plainly  and  frankly  what  he  was?  He  seems 
to  be  ashamed  of  his  profession." 

Seldom  had  Martin  ever  allowed  himself  to  be  so 
angry  with  any  one.  He  had  always  prided  himself 
upon  his  calmness.  But  it  was  the  thought  of  this 
stranger,  and  a  clergyman  at  that,  coming  to  the  place 
and  winning  Nance's  heart  which  stirred  his  inmost 


134  IE  ANY  MAN  SIN 

depths.  He  stood  for  a  few  moments  looking  out  across 
the  lake.  The  perspiration  appeared  in  great  beads  upon 
his  forehead.  Presently  he  heard  Dick's  hearty  laugh, 
and  this  annoyed  him  all  the  more.  He  would  soon  stop 
that.  He  took  a  step  toward  the  door,  but  stopped  as 
the  sound  of  violin  music  fell  upon  his  ears.  It  was 
Nance  playing.  Then  some  one  began  to  sing.  It  was 
a  clear,  strong  tenor  voice,  which  he  recognised  as  that 
of  the  young  stranger. 

Martin  listened  for  a  few  moments  and  then,  pushing 
open  the  door,  he  entered.  No  one  noticed  him  as  he 
moved  quietly  towards  the  fire.  He  paused  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room,  strangely  affected.  It  was  not  the 
music  which  caused  him  to  hesitate  and  place  his  hand 
to  his  forehead  in  a  perplexed  manner.  It  was  the  ex- 
pression of  supreme  happiness  depicted  upon  Nance's 
face  which  held  him  spellbound.  Her  eyes  were  bright, 
and  her  cheeks  were  flushed  with  pleasure  as  she  drew 
the  bow  skilfully  across  the  strings. 

Martin's  anger  cooled  as  he  looked  upon  this  peace- 
ful scene.  It  was  a  striking  and  a  rebuking  contrast  to 
the  hell  in  his  own  heart,  and  he  knew  it.  He  moved 
quietly  forward,  took  his  seat  to  the  left  of  the  fire,  and 
remained  silently  there  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  But 
long  after  the  others  were  wrapped  in  slumber  Martin 
sat  before  the  dying  embers,  fighting  the  hardest  of  all 
battles — the  battle  of  the  heart. 


CHAPTER   XV 

SUSPICION 

DICK  RUSSELL  rose  early  the  next  morning,  much 
refreshed  by  his  sleep.  But  Martin  was  up  ahead 
of  him,  and  had  slipped  out  of  the  building  before  any 
one  else  was  astir.  Tom  lighted  the  fire,  and  proved 
very  handy  in  helping  Nance  with  preparing  the  break- 
fast. In  an  hour's  time  the  meal  was  over.  It  was  a 
very  frugal  repast,  but -what  was  lacking  in  food  was 
made  up  in  pleasant  conversation.  Dick  thought  that 
Nance  looked  prettier  than  ever  as  she  sat  at  the  head 
of  the  table  and  poured  the  tea.  The  men  naturally 
wondered  what  had  become  of  Martin,  but  Nance  in- 
formed them  that  he  must  have  gone  to  the  hills  for 
mountain  sheep.  Their  supply  of  fresh  meat  was  get- 
ting low,  and  it  was  nothing  unusual  for  her  father  to 
go  off  in  the  early  morning  hours. 

"I  must  be  off,  too,"  Dick  remarked,  as  he  rose  from 
the  table.  "This  hot  sun  is  breaking  up  the  trail,  and 
it  is  necessary  to  get  to  Rapid  City  as  soon  as  possible 
to  record  that  claim.  You  will  stay?"  and  he  turned  to 
Tom. 

' '  Yes,  pard, ' '  was  the  reply.  ' '  My  old  legs  are  not  fit 
fer  sich  a  trip  at  present.  I  shall  git  a  cabin  fixed  up 
as  quick  as  I  can.  I  haven't  much  to  live  upon,  to  be 

135 


136  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

sure,  though  I've  been  placed  in  a  far  worse  position 
many  a  time  before.  I'll  go  down  to  the  cache  we  left 
along  the  river  an'  git  my  rifle  an'  some  grub.  You'll 
need  the  rest." 

Nance,  too,  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  stood  looking 
at  the  two  men.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  her  eyes 
were  bright. 

"You  will  come  back,  will  you  not?"  she  faltered,  as 
Dick  took  her  hand  to  bid  her  good-bye, 
i      "Just  as  soon  as  I  can,"  Dick  returned. 

' '  Before  the  summer  ? ' '  she  queried.  ' '  I  hope  you  will, 
as  we  are  going  away." 

"What!"  Dick  dropped  her  hand,  and  looked  in- 
tently into  her  eyes.  "Going  away!  Surely  you  dont 
mean  it!" 

"Yes,  it  is  true.  We  have  been  planning  for  some 
time  to  go  outside,  and  so  have  everything  arranged 
for  this  coming  summer." 

"But  you  must  not  go  until  I  return.  Promise  me 
that,"  the  young  man  urged. 

"It  all  depends  upon  my  father.  I  did  want  to  go 
so  much  a  while  ago,  but  now  I  am  not  so  anxious. ' ' 

It  was  with  great  reluctance  that  Dick  left  the  house, 
with  Nance  standing  in  the  doorway,  and  swung  off  down 
the  trail,  which  ran  along  the  shore  of  the  lake.  Sev- 
eral times  he  turned  and  waved  his  hand  to  the  young 
woman,  until  a  bend  in  the  trail  hid  her  from  view. 

"She's  certainly  a  fine  one,"  Tom  remarked,  as  he 
trudged  along  by  Dick's  side.  "It's  a  great  mystery  to 
me;  it  really  is." 

"What's  a  mystery,  Tom?"  and  Dick  glanced  in- 
quiringly at  his  companion. 


SUSPICION  137 

"Why,  you  know,  pard,  as  well  as  I  do.  I  can't 
savvey  why  that  man  should  be  livin'  here  all  of  these 
years  with  that  beautiful  daughter  of  his.  It  isn't 
natural  that  any  one  should  bury  himself  like  that  in 
sich  a  wilderness  as  this." 

"You're  right,  Tom,"  Dick  reflected.  "He's  an  edu- 
cated man,  too,  which  makes  it  all  the  more  mysterious. 
His  books  plainly  show  that.  He  speaks  well,  and  he 
has  taught  Nance  to  play  the  violin  splendidly. ' ' 

"I  felt  like  askin'  him  about  his  life  when  we  were 
sittin'  before  the  fire  last  night.  But  he  acted  so  queer 
at  times  that  I  thought  it  best  not  to  do  so.  Did  ye 
notice  how  he  left  us  so  suddenly,  an'  when  he  came 
back  he  sat  glum  an'  silent  in  the  corner?" 

"I  did,  Tom." 

"Now,  what  would  ye  make  out  of  that,  eh?' 

"Nothing.  Perhaps  it  was  only  his  manner.  Living 
so  long  in  the  wild  is  enough  to  make  any  one  odd,  don 't 
you  think  so?" 

"It  may  be  as  ye  say,  pard,  though  it  doesn't  alto- 
gether fill  the  bill.  Now,  why  should  a  man  with  a  fine 
edication  want  to  live  in  sich  a  place  as  this  fer  so 
many  years?  If  it  was  gold  he  was  after  I  could  some- 
what savvey  it.  But  he  doesn't  seem  to  care  anything 
about  the  strike.  He  hasn  't  even  staked  a  claim.  There 's 
a  mystery  somewhere  in  the  background,  that's  cer- 
tain." 

"Do  you  suppose  he  knows  about  the  gold  up  the 
Quaska?"  Dick  asked. 

"What  d'ye  mean,  pard?" 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  about  the  big  holes  which  had 
been  dug  up  there?  I  staked  your  claim  right  next  to 


138  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

them.  Now,  suppose  that  Martin  did  the  digging,  and 
has  taken  out  more  than  he  needs,  eh  ? " 

"Not  on  yer  life,  pard.  If  he  had  the  gold  he'd  'a* 
hiked  out  of  the  country  long  afore  this. ' ' 

"But  who  dug  those  holes,  then?"  Dick  insisted. 

"I  can't  say  fer  certain.  The  Rooshians  may  have 
done  it.  They  were  pokin'  around  this  country  years 
ago.  I  have  found  holes  in  many  places  that  they  have 
dug." 

"But  surely  Martin  must  have  known  about  those 
holes,  Tom.  He  has  hunted  all  over  this  region.  But, 
then,  perhaps  he  wasn't  after  the  gold.  He  has  a  very 
neat  cabin  at  any  rate,  which  is  so  comfortable." 

"Who  wouldn't  be  comfortable  with  sich  a  house  an' 
sich  a  daughter  to  look  after  it,  tell  me  that.  She's 
about  the  finest  specimen  of  womankind  I  have  ever  set 
my  eyes  on,  an'  that's  sayin'  a  good  deal.  What  a  pity 
that  she's  been  hid  away  so  long  in  a  lonely  spot  like 
this." 

Dick  made  no  reply  to  these  words,  but  all  the  way 
along  the  trail,  after  Tom  had  left  him,  he  thought  of 
Nance.  To  him  the  Quaska  valley  had  a  new  fascina- 
tion now.  He  had  come  into  the  country  with  the  spe- 
cial object  of  carrying  on  his  Great  Master's  work, 
lengthening  the  cords  and  strengthening  the  stakes  of 
the  Church.  As  a  medical  man,  as  well  as  a  mission- 
ary, he  had  done  much  good  among  the  men  in  the 
various  camps.  This  stampede  into  the  Quaska  valley 
had  opened  to  him  another  door  of  usefulness.  He  had 
gone  with  the  men,  not  for  the  sake  of  gold,  but  for  the 
assistance  he  might  be  able  to  give.  This  new  region 
had  always  seemed  to  him  a  very  desolate  place.  But 


SUSPICION  139 

now  all  had  been  changed  since  he  had  found  Nance. 
Almost  unconsciously  he  began  to  repeat  to  himself  one 
of  his  favourite  and  inspiring  verses  of  Scripture.  Only 
now  he  applied  the  words  in  a  different  sense.  "The 
wilderness  and  the  solitary  places,"  he  murmured, 
"shall  be  glad  for  her,  and  the  desert  shall  rejoice  and 
blossom  as  the  rose." 

Her  image  was  thus  ever  before  him  as  he  toiled  over 
the  weary  trail.  He  thought  of  her  by  day,  and  dreamed 
of  her  at  night,  as  he  lay  alone  upon  his  bed  of  fir 
boughs  with  the  stars  twinkling  overhead.  He  was  sev- 
eral hours  in  advance  of  the  rest  of  the  men,  and  he 
was  glad  that  such  was  the  case.  He  wished  to  be 
alone  with  the  new  happiness  which  had  come  so  sud- 
denly into  his  life.  Never  before  had  any  one  impressed 
him  as  did  Nance.  He  had  met  many  beautiful  and 
clever  women,  but  not  one  had  ever  appealed  to  him  as 
had  this  woman  by  the  shore  of  the  Klutana  Lake. 

He  was  anxious  to  hurry  down  to  Rapid  City,  record 
the  claim,  and  make  ready  to  return  up  river  as  soon 
as  the  ice  ran  out  of  the  stream.  That  this  would  not 
be  long  he  was  well  aware,  for  the  hot  sun  was  making 
havoc  with  the  ice,  and  the  water  was  rising  fast.  The 
trail  was  abominable,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  mind  it 
now.  A  new  spirit  filled  his  soul  and  animated  his 
whole  being.  His  one  great  desire  was  to  get  back  to  the 
little  cabin  in  the  wilderness  before  Nance  and  her  fa- 
ther should  leave. 

After  several  days  of  hard  travelling,  Dick  reached 
Eapid  City.  He  was  very  tired  and  hungry  when  he 
reached  the  place,  but  the  first  thing  that  he  did  was 
to  record  the  claim  he  had  staked  in  Tom  Hendrick's 


140  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

name.  That  night  all  the  men  in  the  mining  town  came 
to  his  cabin,  anxious  to  learn  all  they  could  about  the 
prospects  of  the  new  ' '  diggings. ' ' 

' '  What  about  the  old  man  who  lives  out  there  ? ' '  Sam 
Pelchie  after  a  while  asked. 

"Where  did  you  get  your  knowledge,  Sam?"  and 
Dick  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "I  haven't  told  you  a 
word  about  him." 

But  the  other  only  laughed,  and  tipped  a  wink  to 
Dave  Purvis,  who  grinned  in  return.  Dick  was  about 
to  tell  what  he  knew  about  Martin  when  the  action  of 
these  men  caused  him  to  hesitate. 

Of  all  the  miners  at  Rapid  City  these  two  had  been 
the  most  troublesome  during  the  past  winter.  They 
were  noted  for  their  laziness,  and  but  for  the  good- 
heartedness  of  others  they  would  have  starved.  They 
seldom  did  any  hunting  for  their  support.  They  were 
disliked  by  the  men  of  Rapid  City,  but,  as  is  so  often  the 
rule  in  a  frontier  camp,  they  received  a  share  of  all  that 
was  going.  The  sense  of  shame  in  living  as  parasites 
did  not  bother  them  in  the  least.  Dick  always  managed 
to  get  along  fairly  well  with  "The  Twins,"  as  they 
were  commonly  called,  although  he  believed  them  to  be 
veritable  scoundrels,  who  would  turn  against  their  best 
friends  upon  the  least  pretext. 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  this  occasion  about  Mar- 
tin, and  so  the  conversation  drifted  off  to  the  gold  of 
the  Quaska.  But  Dick  determined  to  keep  his  eyes  upon 
Pelchie  and  Purvis.  He  intended  to  keep  his  ears  open 
as  well  in  an  effort  to  learn  how  they  happened  to  know 
that  Martin  lived  up  river.  He  knew  that  they  did  not 
hear  of  him  from  the  two  prospectors  who  had  made 


SUSPICION  141 

the  discovery,  as  they  had  reported  that  only  Indiana 
lived  up  there.  These  men  had  already  returned  to 
the  Quaska  valley.  Taku  had  gone  with  them,  his  dogs 
drawing  a  supply  of  provisions. 

Dick  went  to  bed  that  night  wondering  what  The 
Twins  meant  by  the  winks  they  had  passed  to  each 
other,  and  their  mysterious  manner.  A  sudden  thought 
came  into  his  mind,  which  caused  him  to  toss  to  and 
fro,  tired  though  he  was.  "Was  it  possible  that  Pelchie 
and  Purvis  had  heard  about  Nance  and  her  remarkable 
beauty?  He  knew  from  what  the  men  had  said  on 
former  occasions  that  they  had  very  little  respect  for 
women.  In  a  land  such  as  this  where  might  was  right, 
what  chance  would  a  beautiful  young  woman,  innocent 
as  a  child,  have  against  wily  minions  of  Satan?  What 
else,  he  asked  himself,  would  make  The  Twins  take  such 
an  interest  in  Martin  ?  At  length  he  fell  into  a  troubled 
sleep,  and  dreamed  that  Nance  was  beset  by  cruel  and 
terrible  dragons,  and  that  he  was  unable  to  go  to  her 
assistance. 

Early  the  next  morning  a  band  of  weary  stampedera 
reached  Rapid  City,  and  recorded  their  claims.  After 
breakfast  Dick  went  over  to  the  store,  where  he  found 
a  crowd  of  men  gathered.  Upon  a  small  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  was  a  rough  map,  sketched  with  the 
point  of  a  burnt  stick,  showing  the  new  diggings. 
Around  this  most  of  the  men  were  clustered,  discussing 
it  in  a  most  animated  manner.  Small  numbers  marked 
the  places  where  the  stampeders  had  staked  their  claims. 
The  old  holes  formed  the  boundary  line  of  the  valley, 
and  the  claims  were  marked  "above"  or  "below,"  ac- 
cordincr.  to  their  situation. 


142  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"Where  is  the  old  man's  cabin?"  Pelchie  asked,  lean- 
ing over  for  a  better  view. 

"At  the  mouth  of  the  river,"  Ben  Haines  replied, 
"right  there,"  and  he  made  a  small  cross  upon  the 
paper. 

"Did  he  stake?"  Pelchie  further  queried. 

"No.  Takes  no  interest  in  the  discovery.  He's  a 
strange  one;  lives  alone  with  his  daughter,  and  just 
hunts  for  his  living.  But  he  was  mighty  good  to  us, 
and  handed  out  about  the  whole  of  his  grub.  His 
daughter  is  certainly  a  beauty.  You  should  have  seen 
her  eyes  fill  with  tears  when  we  carried  poor  old  'Dad' 
into  the  cabin,  sick  as  a  dog,  and  moaning  like  a  baby. 
He  was  clean  cracked  when  we  left  him,  but  that  girl 
was  nursing  him  like  a  mother.  You  missed  something, 
Sam,  by  not  being  along  with  us.  "Why  in  hell  didn't 
you  and  Dave  go  on  the  stampede?" 

"Had  other  business,  Ben,  hey,  Dave?"  and  he 
winked  to  his  partner. 

"Sure  thing,"  was  the  reply.  "We've  never  seen  the 
Quaska,  but  I'll  gamble  that  we'll  take  out  more  gold 
from  that  place  than  any  of  you." 

A  laugh  went  up  from  the  men  in  the  room.  They 
knew  The  Twins  and  what  bluffing  they  always  did. 
This  last  remark  was  most  characteristic. 

"You'll  have  to  get  a  hustle  on  if  you  intend  to 
stake,"  Barry  Dane  spoke  up.  "The  Northern  Packet 
will  be  here  as  soon  as  the  river  clears,  and  I  wouldn't 
be  surprised  if  a  big  crowd  comes  on  her.  We  're  going 
to  get  her  to  go  right  up  to  the  lake.  There's  bound 
to  be  a  lively  bunch  there  this  summer,  so  you'd  better 
make  a  move  at  once  if  you're  going  to  do  anything. 


SUSPICION  143 

We're  not  going  to  keep  you  again  as  we  did  last  win- 
ter, I  can  tell  you  that." 

" Don't  you  worry,"  Dave  surlily  replied.  "We'll 
make  your  eyes  stick  out  before  the  summer 's  over,  never 

fear.  I  don't  care  for  any  d crowd  which  comes 

on  the  Packet." 

Dick  Kussell  said  nothing  to  any  of  the  men  about 
the  thoughts  which  were  troubling  him.  As  the  days 
passed  he  endeavoured  to  learn  something  of  the  plans 
of  Pelchie  and  Purvis,  but  in  vain.  He  saw  them  at 
times  together,  talking  in  a  most  confidential  way,  and 
knew  that  they  were  often  in  each  other's  cabins.  He 
believed  that  Martin,  and  perhaps  Nance,  formed  the 
chief  topic  of  their  conversation,  and  his  heart  grew 
heavy  as  he  thought  of  what  the  future  might  reveal. 
He  awaited  anxiously  for  the  river  to  clear,  and  the 
steamer  to  arrive,  that  he  might  hurry  up  stream,  not 
for  gold,  but  to  see  Nance  and,  if  necessary,  to  protect 
her. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

TOM   MAKES  A  DISCOVERY 

IT  was  not  long  after  Dick  and  Tom  had  left  Martin's 
cabin  that  the  stampeders  arrived.  They  were  in 
good  spirits,  but  very  hungry,  having  eaten  the  last  of 
their  meal  the  previous  evening.  Nance  was  washing 
the  breakfast  dishes  and  thinking  of  Dick,  when  she 
was  startled  by  the  appearance  of  several  men  at  the 
door.  They  doffed  their  caps  when  they  saw  the  young 
woman,  and  asked  if  they  might  have  something  to  eat. 

' '  We  are  sorry  to  disturb  you,  Miss, ' '  Barry  Dane  ex- 
plained, acting  as  spokesman,  ' '  but  we  're  down  to  hard- 
pan.  We've  not  had  a  bite  to  eat  since  last  night,  and 
there's  a  long  trail  ahead  of  us." 

"Come  right  in,"  Nance  replied.  "We  haven't  much 
ourselves,  but  I  know  that  my  father  will  be  pleased  to 
share  with  you." 

While  the  men  seated  themselves  about  the  room, 
Nance  went  to  the  larder,  and  brought  forth  a  large  piece 
of  moose  meat.  From  this  she  cut  off  numerous  slices, 
and  then  began  to  fry  several  of  them  over  the  fire. 

"Let  me  help  you,  Miss,"  Barry  volunteered.  "I  am 
fairly  handy  at  such  work,  and  it  isn't  right  that  you 
should  cook  for  us  lazy  louts." 

144 


TOM  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY  145 

"Well,  then,  you  can  attend  to  this  while  I  look 
after  the  table,"  and  Nance  handed  him  the  frying- 
pan. 

Each  man  had  with  him  his  meagre  supply  of  dishes, 
and  ere  long  all  were  enjoying  the  meat,  as  well  as  the 
tea,  which  Nance  had  prepared.  These  men  treated  their 
young  hostess  with  the  greatest  courtesy.  Not  a  rougk 
word  was  spoken,  and  it  was  somewhat  pathetic  to  ob- 
serve the  manner  in  which  several  of  them  endeavoured 
to  assume  an  air  of  gentility.  They  were  true  knights, 
this  body  of  men,  rough  outwardly,  but  possessed  of  big, 
loyal  hearts. 

They  were  almost  through  with  their  meal  when  Mar- 
tin arrived,  bringing  with  him  an  old  man,  who  tottered 
as  he  walked.  He  had  wide-staring  eyes,  and  was  con- 
tinually muttering  to  himself.  The  stampeders  rose 
to  their  feet  in  surprise  as  they  recognised  'Dad'  Sed- 
don,  whom  they  had  left  up  the  Quaska  that  morning. 
He  had  refused  to  come  with  them,  saying  that  he 
would  follow  later  and  overtake  them. 

"What's  happened  to  Dad?"  was  Barry  Dane's  first 
question.  ' '  He  seems  to  be  all  in. ' ' 

"He  certainly  is,"  Martin  replied.  "I  found  him 
up  stream  down  on  his  knees,  clawing  at  the  ground, 
and  jabbering  away  at  a  great  rate.  He's  gold  mad, 
that 's  what 's  the  trouble  with  him.  Come,  Nance, ' '  and 
he  turned  toward  her ;  ' '  a  piece  of  that  meat  and  a  cup 
of  tea  will  do  him  much  good." 

Nance  had  been  staring  hard  at  the  pathetic  figure 
of  the  old  man.  He  looked  so  frail  and  helpless  that  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  watched  him. 

"Say,  Dad,  what's  wrong  with  you?"  Barry  asked, 


146  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

stepping  over  to  Seddon,  and  laying  a  heavy  hand  upon 
his  shoulder. 

But  the  poor  creature  simply  stared,  and  continued 
his  muttering  as  before.  He  ate  ravenously  the  food 
Nance  brought  him,  and  gulped  down  a  cup  of  tea. 

""What  are  we  to  do  with  him?"  Jim  Lane  asked. 
"We  can't  take  him  with  us,  that's  sure." 

"Leave  him  here,"  Martin  replied.  ""We  will  look 
after  him  as  well  as  we  can.  I  think  he'll  be  all  right 
after  he  has  had  a  good  sleep. ' ' 

"It's  kind  of  you,  sir,"  Barry  remarked,  "and  we 
won't  forget  it.  We  have  a  long  trail  ahead  of  us  and 
could  hardly  manage  Dad.  And,  besides,  we've  no 
grub  until  we  strike  our  cache  down  stream.  Could  you 
let  us  have  some  meat  ? ' ' 

"I  think  we  can,"  and  Martin  crossed  over  to  the 
larder  as  he  spoke.  "We  have  a  little  meat  and  a  small 
supply  of  smoked  fish.  We  can  spare  some,  eh,  Nance?" 

"Yes,"  Nance  replied.  "We  can  get  along  very 
well,  as  we  shall  soon  have  fresh  fish  from  the  lake. ' ' 

"Thank  ye  kindly,"  several  of  the  men  responded. 
"We  certainly  won't  forget  what  ye've  done  for  us 
to-day." 

In  about  half  an  hour  they  had  left  the  cabin,  and 
were  swinging  off  down  the  trail.  They  met  Tom  a  short 
distance  from  the  house,  and  to  him  they  imparted  the 
news  about  Dad. 

" I'll  look  after  the  poor  chap, ' '  Tom  said.  ' ' He '11  be 
all  right  in  a  short  time,  never  fear." 

When  he  reached  the  house  he  found  Dad  tucked  in 
bed.  The  half-crazed  man  had  objected  at  first,  but  at 
last  had  yielded  to  Nance.  Her  words  and  the  touch  of 


TOM  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY  147 

her  hand  upon  his  greatly  soothed  his  excited  state  of 
mind,  so  in  a  short  time  he  was  sleeping  soundly. 

"It's  jist  what  he  needs,"  Tom  explained,  as  he  looked 
upon  him.  "He's  slept  hardly  a  wink  since  startin' 
upon  this  stampede.  That  an'  the  want  of  food,  to- 
gether with  the  thought  of  the  gold,  has  somewhat  upset 
the  machinery  of  his  head.  Oh,  I've  seen  sich  cases 
afore.  He's  a  fine  one,  is  old  Dad,  true  as  steel  to  his 
friends,  rather  cranky  at  times,  an'  a  regular  devil  to 
any  one  who  tries  any  crooked  business  upon  him.  I 
always  got  along  well  with  the  old  chap.  In  fact  we 
were  quite  chums  last  winter.  He's  great  at  chess,  an'  we 
used  to  play  it  most  every  night.  He's  got  a  set  of 
chessmen  he  made  durin'  the  long  winter  evenin's  out 
of  ivory  from  the  tusk  of  an  old  mastodon  we  found  on 
a  little  creek  some  time  ago.  He's  mighty  proud  of 
them,  I  can  tell  you  that,  an'  if  we  can  git  his  mind  off 
of  the  gold  fer  a  while  an'  turn  it  on  to  chess,  it  might 
do  him  a  world  of  good." 

"Why,  chess  is  one  of  our  games,"  Nance  replied. 
"Daddy  taught  it  to  me  a  long  time  ago,  and  he,  too, 
made  all  the  pieces  himself,  out  of  wood." 

' '  Well,  I  declare ! ' '  and  Tom  looked  his  surprise.  ' '  To 
think  of  you  playin'  sich  a  deep,  solemn  game  as  that! 
I  don't  believe  that  ye'd  find  many  young  women  out- 
side spendin'  their  time  in  sich  a  way,  ah,  no.  They're 
too  lightheaded  an'  giddy  fer  that.  It  certainly '11  be 
a  great  comfort  to  old  Dad  when  he  sees  yer  chessmen. 
He'll  keep  ye  at  it  all  the  time.  He'd  'a'  played  night 
an'  day  last  winter  if  any  one  would  have  played  with 
'im.  You  will  surely  be  all  right  in  his  eyes  when  he 
wakes  an'  I  tell  'im  the  news." 


148  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"You  had  better  be  careful,"  Martin  laughed. 
"Nance  might  not  be  able  to  do  anything  else  if  Dad 
gets  hold  of  her.  I  might  lose  my  housekeeper. ' ' 

"Ye 're  bound  to  lose  her  sooner  or  later,  anyway," 
and  Tom  winked  at  Nance,  as  he  drew  forth  his  pipe  and 
tobacco  from  his  pocket. 

At  these  words  Martin's  face  darkened,  and  he 
straightened  himself  up  with  a  sudden  jerk.  His  lips 
moved  as  if  he  were  about  to  speak,  but  not  a  sound  did 
he  utter.  He  looked  Tom  full  in  the  face  for  a  few  sec- 
onds, and  then  turning  walked  towards  the  door.  He 
paused  upon  the  threshold,  and  glanced  around  upon 
the  prospector. 

' '  You  look  after  him  until  I  return, ' '  and  he  motioned 
towards  Dad.  "I  brought  down  a  sheep  this  morning, 
but  left  its  carcass  up  the  valley  in  order  to  bring  in 
the  old  man. ' ' 

"Let  me  go,"  Tom  hastened  to  reply.  "It  isn't  fair 
that  you  should  do  all  the  work. ' ' 

"No,  thank  you,  I  shall  go  myself.  You  wouldn't 
know  where  to  find  it."  With  that  he  was  off,  leaving 
Tom  much  puzzled  over  his  peculiar  manner. 

The  prospector  seated  himself  upon  a  stool,  and  de- 
liberately filled  his  pipe.  When  it  was  lighted  and 
drawing  to  his  satisfaction,  he  turned  toward  Nance, 
who  was  putting  away  the  dishes  she  had  just  wiped. 

"Yer  father  seems  worried  over  something,"  he  be- 
gan. "I  wonder  what  is  the  matter." 

Nance  paused  in  her  work  and  looked  intently  upon 
the  old  prospector's  honest,  rugged  face.  She,  too,  had 
noticed  Martin's  strange  behaviour  of  late,  and  she 
longed  to  unburden  her  mind  to  some  one.  She  felt 


TOM  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY  149 

that  in  Tom  she  would  have  a  sympathetic  listener,  and 
that  he  would  keep  her  confidence  as  a  sacred  trust. 
She,  accordingly,  left  her  work  and  sat  down  upon  a 
bench  at  the  side  of  the  table. 

"My  father,"  she  began,  "has  only  acted  in  this 
strange  manner  since  you  arrived.  He  was  never  like 
that  before.  Did  you  notice  how  he  left  so  suddenly 
last  night,  and  when  he  came  back  he  didn't  talk  at 
all?" 

' '  I  did ;  I  certainly  did,  Miss, ' '  Tom  assented.  * '  Some 
words  which  my  pardner  let  drop  seemed  to  upset  'im 
completely.  I  wonder — I  wonder,"  he  mused,  half  to 
himself,  "  if  he  is  afraid  of  Dick.  It  may  be  that.  He 's 
mighty  taken  with  you,  Miss,  is  Dick,  an'  it  might  be 
that  yer  father  fears  that  he  '11  lose  ye. ' ' 

A  flush  suffused  Nance 's  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  dropped. 
Was  this,  then,  the  reason  of  her  father's  strange  ac- 
tions? she  asked  herself. 

"When  d'ye  expect  to  leave,  Miss?"  Tom  suddenly 
queried. 

"Leave!"  Nancy  gave  a  little  startled  laugh.  "I 
cannot  tell  now  when  we  shall  leave." 

"An'  d'ye  expect  to  come  back  some  day?" 

"It  is  hardly  likely.  This  place  will  be  too  busy  for 
my  father.  He  would  never  return,  I  feel  quite  sure  of 
that." 

' '  Have  ye  really  lived  up  here  all  yer  life,  Miss  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  all  my  life.  My  father  and  mother  were 
drowned  on  the  Mackenzie  River  when  I  was  a  little 
child,  and  so " 

"What's  that  ye  tell  me!"  Tom  interrupted  in  as- 
tonishment. "Isn't  Martin  yer  father,  then?" 


150  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"Oh,  no.  He  happened  along  with  several  other 
men,  and  took  me  from  the  Indians,  who  would  have 
kept  me,  and  brought  me  to  this  place. ' ' 

' '  Good  Lord ! ' '  broke  from  the  prospector 's  lips.  ' '  But 
go  on,  Miss." 

"There's  nothing  more  to  tell  except  that  we've  lived 
here  ever  since." 

"But  what  in  the  world  kept  yer  father — I  mean 
Martin — in  sich  a  place  as  this  ?  Didn  't  he  ever  tell  ye  ? " 

"No.  I  haven't  the  least  idea.  I  have  often  thought 
about  it,  but  father  never  told  me." 

""Well,  I  declare!"  and  Tom  scratched  his  head  in 
perplexity.  "But  what  is  his  other  name  besides  Mar- 
tin?" 

"It's  Rutland,"  Nance  replied,  "and  he  lived,  so  he 
told  me,  somewhere  back  in  Eastern  Canada  before  he 
came  here.  That  is  all  I  know." 

Tom  sat  for  some  time  lost  in  deep  thought,  while 
Nance  went  back  to  her  work.  "Martin  Rutland,"  he 
mused ; ' '  where  have  I  heard  that  name  before  ? ' '  Pres- 
ently he  came  straight  to  his  feet,  while  an  exclamation 
escaped  his  lips. 

"Pardon  me,  Miss,"  he  explained  to  Nance,  who  had 
looked  around  in  surprise.  "It  is  nothing.  I  take 
strange  kinks  sometimes,  which  make  me  yelp.  I'll 
jist  stroll  outside  a  bit  an'  work  it  off." 

Once  in  the  open  he  paced  up  and  down  before  the 
door.  There  came  to  him  now  through  the  mist  of 
twenty  years  the  vision  of  an  open  grave,  where  his 
Nell  was  lying,  and  a  young  clergyman  was  reading  the 
Burial  Service.  The  man  had  come  from  a  neighbouring 
parish,  as  his  own  rector  was  ill.  Tom  had  heard  his 


TOM  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY  151 

name  then,  and  remembered  it  because  of  later  events. 
Yes,  the  man's  name  was  Martin  Rutland.  He  had  read 
how  he  had  been  deposed  by  his  bishop  for  a  serious 
offence.  The  newspapers  had  made  much  of  the  trouble 
at  the  time.  Could  it  be  possible  that  this  was  the  same 
man? 

Tom  paused  in  his  rapid  walk,  and  looked  out  over 
the  lake,  although  he  saw  neither  the  shimmering  water 
nor  the  dark  trees  in  the  background.  He  beheld  again 
the  look  upon  Martin's  face  the  previous  evening  when 
he  learned  that  Dick  Russell  was  a  clergyman  as  well  as 
a  medical  man.  He  recalled  how  he  had  abruptly  left 
the  building,  returning  later,  silent  and  gloomy.  Then, 
why  had  Martin  left  so  early  this  morning,  and  after 
the  reference  to  Nance  leaving  him,  why  had  he  taken 
himself  off  again  as  if  anxious  to  be  alone?  Tom 
thought,  too,  of  the  books  in  the  cabin,  not  of  an  ordi- 
nary reader,  but  of  a  scholar  and  a  thinker.  Yes,  so 
he  concluded,  this  must  be  that  same  outcast  person 
who  had  hidden  himself  away  in  the  wilderness  all  of 
these  years. 

There  then  came  into  his  mind  the  thought  of  the 
beautiful  young  woman  in  the  house.  It  was  quite  evi- 
dent that  she  knew  nothing  about  the  past  life  of  the 
man  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  calling  "father." 
"What  a  terrible  blow  it  would  be  to  her  if  she  ever  heard 
the  truth.  Anyway,  she  should  not  hear  it  from  him, 
Tom  made  up  his  mind  to  that.  There  was  the  slight 
chance,  of  course,  that  there  might  be  some  mistake, 
and  that  it  was  only  a  coincidence  of  names.  He  de- 
termined, nevertheless,  to  keep  his  eyes  and  ears  open 
and  try  to  find  out  what  he  could. 


152  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"If  it's  true,"  he  mused,  "I  must  stand  by  the  lassie. 
There'll  be  many  only  too  glad  of  an  opportunity  of 
casting  the  story  at  her  and  causing  her  trouble.  No, 
not  a  soul  shall  ever  hear  of  it  from  my  lips." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

HEART  THRUSTS 

THAT  evening  a  little  group  gathered  before  the 
open  fire,  for  the  nights  were  still  cool.  Martin 
was  in  better  spirits,  and  talked  freely  with  the  old 
prospector,  to  whom  he  had  taken  a  great  liking.  Dad 
Seddon  was  sitting  close  to  Nance,  gazing  upon  the 
bright  flames  as  they  licked  around  the  large  chunks  of 
wood  and  then  curled  up  the  chimney.  The  sleep  had 
much  refreshed  the  old  man,  although  he  was  still  quite 
weak  from  his  hard  experience  since  leaving  Rapid  City. 
Tom  was  in  fine  fettle.  The  little  circle  pleased  him 
greatly,  and  at  times  he  cast  admiring  glances  toward 
Nance,  who  was  busy  with  her  needle.  He  had  been 
thinking  deeply  over  what  he  had  heard  that  day  about 
Martin,  and  he  was  anxious  to  know  for  certain  if  he 
were  the  same  man  who  had  buried  his  Nell  years  ago. 
He  had  tried  in  vain  to  find  some  resemblance  between 
this  long-bearded,  rugged  frontiersman  and  the  trim 
young  man  who  had  stood  before  him  on  that  saddest 
day  of  his  whole  life.  ' '  It  cannot  surely  be  the  same, ' ' 
he  thought,  as  he  turned  his  eyes  occasionally  toward 
Martin,  who  was  puffing  away  at  his  pipe.  "And  yet," 
he  mused,  "years  make  a  great  difference  in  a  man's 
appearance." 

153 


154  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"How  are  ye  feelin'  now,  Dad?"  he  suddenly  asked, 
turning  to  the  old  trapper. 

"Better,  Tom,"  was  the  brief  quiet  reply. 

"That's  good.  A  game  of  chess  would  put  ye  right 
onyer  pins,  eh?" 

' '  Sure  thing ! ' '  and  Dad 's  eyes  brightened  at  the  men- 
tion of  his  favourite  game. 

"Ah,  I  thought  that  would  bring  ye  out  of  yer 
dumps,"  and  Tom's  hearty  laugh  rang  out.  "But  ye 
needn't  think  that  I'm  goin'  to  keep  my  nose  down  over 
any  chess-board  to-night,  not  a  bit  of  it. ' ' 

"No?"  and  the  old  man  looked  his  disappointment. 

"How  d'ye  expect  to  git  a  board  an'  men  out  here?" 
Tom  queried. 

"Sure.    I  never  thought  of  that,"  Dad  sadly  replied. 

"Don't  tease  Mr.  Seddon,"  Nance  laughed.  "Would 
you  like  to  have  a  game  with  me?"  and  she  turned  to 
the  man  at  her  side  as  she  spoke. 

"What!  Can  you  play,  Miss?"  There  was  a  pa- 
thetic eagerness  in  Dad's  eyes  as  he  riveted  them  upon 
the  young  woman 's  face. 

In  reply  Nance  rose,  and  going  to  a  shelf  brought 
down  a  chess-board  and  a  small  box  containing  the  vari- 
ous pieces.  Dad  was  delighted  as  he  took  the  latter  in 
his  hands  and  examined  them  with  a  critical  eye. 

* '  Did  you  make  these  ? "  he  asked,  turning  to  Martin. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "and  many  a  fine  game  we've 
had  with  them  during  the  long  winter  evenings,  though 
we  haven 't  played  much  of  late. ' ' 

Nance  had  now  drawn  up  a  small  table,  and  soon  she 
and  Dad  were  deeply  engaged  in  the  royal  game.  Tom 
watched  them  with  much  satisfaction,  and  gave  vent  to 


HEART  THRUSTS  155 

several  chuckles  of  delight  when  he  found  that  Nance 
was  a  match  for  the  trapper. 

"Ha,  that  was  a  fine  move!"  he  exclaimed,  while 
Nance  laughed  with  glee  as  Dad  scratched  his  head  and 
endeavoured  to  extricate  himself  from  the  clever  trap 
into  which  his  fair  opponent  had  led  him.  "I'm  glad 
that  Dad  has  met  his  equal  at  last,"  Tom  continued, 
"fer  he  always  beat  me  without  mercy.  The  first  time 
I  ever  saw  chess  played,"  and  he  now  addressed  his  re- 
marks to  Martin,  "was  away  back  in  Eastern  Canada. 
Old  Parson  Dowden,  who  was  rector  fer  forty  years  of 
Glendale,  the  parish  in  which  I  was  born,  didn  't  have  an 
equal  at  the  game  as  fer  as  I  know.  "Why,  he'd  go  with- 
out his  meals  any  time  to  play  chess." 

At  these  words,  and  especially  at  the  mention  of 
"Dowden"  and  "Glendale,"  Martin  gave  a  distinct 
start,  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  looked  keenly 
at  Tom.  But  the  latter  seemed  as  though  he  did  not 
notice  Martin's  surprise.  He  bent  over,  lighted  a  splin- 
ter of  wood  at  the  fire,  and  applied  it  to  his  pipe. 

"Yes,"  he  continued  between  puffs,  "old  Parson 
Dowden  was  a  great  man  at  chess.  I  remember  hearin' 
how  he  licked  the  parson  from  the  next  parish  in  a  won- 
derful game.  But  he  was  a  young  man,  an'  hadn't  the 
experience  of  Parson  Dowden." 

The  fingers  of  Martin's  right  hand  clutched  the  pipe 
with  a  firm  grip.  His  eyes,  staring  and  big,  were  fixed 
upon  the  prospector's  face.  Surprise,  mingled  with 
consternation,  was  depicted  upon  his  countenance.  But 
Tom  did  not  seem  to  notice  anything  unusual,  and 
Nance  was  too  intent  upon  the  game  to  heed  anything 
else. 


156  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"I  only  saw  that  young  parson  from  the  adjoinin' 
parish  but  once, ' '  Tom  went  on  after  a  pause,  in  which 
he  seemed  to  be  meditating.  "It  was  when  he  buried 
my  Nell.  But,  poor  chap,  I  heard  that  he  got  into 
trouble,  was  put  out  of  the  Church,  an'  so  left  the 
parish  to  parts  unknown.  'Twas  a  great  blow  to  his 
friends  an'  relatives,  so  I  understand." 

Tom  ceased  his  narration,  casually  blew  a  cloud  of 
smoke  into  the  air,  and  shot  one  lightning  glance  toward 
Martin.  Any  doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  the  man  be- 
fore him  was  now  removed.  The  strained,  haggard  ex- 
pression upon  Martin's  face  plainly  told  of  the  agony 
within.  He  sat  very  still,  although  he  often  looked 
anxiously  and  keenly  into  Tom's  face  as  if  wondering 
how  much  he  knew,  and  if  he  had  any  idea  that  the  man 
sitting  before  him  was  the  same  who  had  buried  his 
Nell.  But  the  prospector's  manner  as  he  watched  the 
game  led  him  to  believe  that  he  had  not  the  slightest 
suspicion.  Although  this  was  somewhat  of  a  relief  to 
Martin,  yet  he  began  to  feel  uneasy  in  Tom's  presence. 
He  longed  to  hear  more  about  his  old  parish,  and  he 
knew  that  Tom  could  supply  him  with  the  information. 
Several  times  his  lips  moved  ere  he  could  sufficiently 
control  himself  to  speak. 

"You've  been  away  from  Eastern  Canada  for  some 
time,  I  suppose, "  he  at  length  remarked  in  an  attempted 
off-handed  manner. 

"Yes,  nigh  on  to  twenty  years,"  was  the  reply. 

"Many  changes  must  have  taken  place  in  your  home 
parish  during  that  time. ' ' 

"Yes,  many,"  and  Tom  gazed  thoughtfully  into  the 
fire.  "I  kept  in  touch  with  it  fer  years,  but  I  haven't 


HEAET  THRUSTS  157 

heard  any  news  fer  a  long  time  now.  I  guess  people 
have  f ergotten  all  about  me  an '  my  Nell.  It 's  wonderful 
how  soon  people  will  fergit  except  one  thing." 

"And  what  is  that?"  Martin  queried. 

"Oh,  anything  bad  about  a  person.  Now  take  the 
case  of  that  young  parson  from  Glendale  fer  instance. 
I  don't  believe  they've  f  ergotten  about  it  yit,  at  least 
they  hadn't  the  last  time  I  heard  from  home." 

"Oh,  you  don't  think  so?"  came  involuntarily  from 
Martin's  lips,  which  Tom  was  not  slow  to  notice. 

"No,  not  a  bit  of  it.  I  understand  that  what  he  did 
almost  ruined  the  Church  there,  and  the  man  who  fol- 
lowed him  had  a  tough  time  of  it. ' ' 

"Oh!" 

"Yes,  numbers  of  people  lost  all  faith  in  parsons, 
while  others,  though  they  did  not  exactly  leave  the 
Church,  looked  with  suspicion  upon  the  new  man,  as  if 
wonderin'  what  capers  he'd  cut  up." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"But  there  were  some  who  took  the  trouble  harder 
than  all  the  rest,"  Tom  continued.  "The  young  par- 
son's fall  broke  his  parents'  hearts,  an'  they  both  died 
the  next  year." 

"My  God!" 

This  unusual  exclamation  caused  Nance  to  look  up, 
startled,  from  the  game.  But  Martin  did  not  notice 
her.  He  was  standing  erect  now,  with  clenched  hands, 
looking  straight  before  him.  Quickly  recovering  him- 
self, he  sat  down  again. 

"It's  nothing,"  he  said.  "I  was  overcome  at  the 
story  of  that  wretch  who  killed  his  parents.  Go  on, 
please. ' ' 


158  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

And  once  more  Tom  stabbed  to  the  quick. 

"I  heard  that  there  was  a  young  woman,  I  jist  fergit 
her  name,  who  took  on  very  hard.  It  nearly  broke  her 
heart  at  what  the  parson  did.  She  was  a  fine  singer, 
too,  so  I  understand.  She  was  sick  fer  a  long  time. 
When  she  got  well  she  left  Glendale,  an'  I  heard  later 
that  she  became  a  trained  nurse.  She  was  very  beauti- 
ful. I  know  that,  fer  I  saw  her  once  myself.  She  was 
very  much  in  love  with  the  young  parson,  so  I  heard, 
an'  she  had  her  weddin'  dress  all  made.  They  were  to 
have  been  married  the  next  summer.  It  was  all  very 
sad." 

Tom  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and  sat  watch- 
ing the  dying  embers  before  him.  Martin  remained  in 
his  chair  with  his  head  bent  forward,  the  very  embodi- 
ment of  despair.  Occasionally  Tom  glanced  toward  him, 
and  his  heart  smote  him  with  compunction  for  having 
caused  the  man  such  agony  of  soul. 

Nance  wondered  more  than  usual  at  the  expression 
upon  her  father's  face  as  she  stooped  to  give  him  the 
customary  good-night  kiss.  She  noticed  that  he  took 
both  of  her  hands  in  his  and  held  them  longer  than  was 
his  wont.  She  knew  that  something  was  troubling  his 
mind,  and  her  heart  was  very  heavy  as  she  went  to  her 
room. 

During  the  following  days  Martin's  mind  was  much 
disturbed.  The  news  he  had  heard  about  his  parents 
caused  him  intense  remorse.  He  thought  of  them  by 
day,  and  would  often  start  up  in  the  dead  of  night 
thinking  that  they  were  standing  by  his  side.  He  pic- 
tured over  and  over  again  their  sorrow  as  they  sat 
alone  at  night  in  the  old  farmhouse,  mourning  over  their 


HEART  THRUSTS  159 

wayward  son.  He  recalled  the  last  time  lie  had  seen 
them  and  how  proudly  they  had  looked  into  his  face. 
Never  before  did  he  fully  realise  what  his  sin  had  meant 
to  them.  But  now  it  all  swept  upon  him  with  a  madden- 
ing intensity.  Often  a  lump  would  rise  in  his  throat, 
and  tears  roll  down  his  cheeks  as  that  night  when  he  had 
last  seen  his  parents  rose  before  him.  Once  out  on  the 
hills  he  had  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  sobbed 
like  a  child.  Only  the  trees,  flowers,  and  birds  witnessed 
his  grief,  and  they  would  not  divulge  the  secret. 

Although  Martin  was  fond  of  the  old  prospector,  yet 
he  felt  somewhat  uneasy  in  his  presence.  Several  times 
he  found  Tom  watching  him  with  a  wondering  expres- 
sion in  his  eyes.  He  was,  accordingly,  glad  when  Tom 
left  with  Dad  for  the  diggings  up  the  Quaska.  But  he 
knew  that  he  would  return  in  a  few  days,  and  his  peace 
of  mind  would  once  more  be  disturbed. 

One  beautiful  evening  Martin  and  Nance  were  seated 
at  the  supper  table.  The  ice  had  run  out  of  the  lake 
and  the  river  over  a  week  ago.  The  air  was  balmy,  and 
the  days  long  and  fine.  Nance  had  been  unusually  quiet 
of  late.  She  was  wondering  when  Dick  would  return, 
and  if  he  would  be  really  the  same  as  when  he  went 
away.  She  had  thought  over  and  over  again  every  word 
he  had  uttered.  The  chair  on  which  he  had  sat  the  last 
i(  night  he  was  in  the  cabin  she  had  carefully  kept  in  the 
same  place.  "It  will  be  there  for  him  when  he  comes 
back,"  she  had  whispered  to  herself. 

Hers  was  the  supreme  joy  of  pure  first  love,  and  her 
heart  was  light  and  happy.  Dick  Russell 's  strong,  manly 
form  rose  before  her.  She  saw  the  twinkle  in  his  light- 
blue  eyes,  the  frank  open  face,  and  the  erect  poise  of 


160  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

his  head.  To  her  he  was  a  hero,  a  knight  such  as  she 
had  read  about  in  a  book  upon  the  shelf.  She  was 
thinking  of  him  as  she  now  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table 
on  this  fine  evening. 

' '  It  will  soon  be  time  for  us  to  be  packing  up,  Nance. ' ' 

The  words  startled  her,  and  she  lifted  her  eyes  quickly 
to  Martin's  face. 

"Yes,"  the  latter  continued,  "we  must  be  over  to  the 
Mackenzie  in  time  to  catch  the  steamer  on  its  return 
from  the  North." 

"Oh!"  It  was  all  that  Nance  could  utter,  but  it 
caused  Martin  to  study  her  face  very  carefully. 

"Don't  you  want  to  go,  little  one?"  he  asked,  not 
unkindly. 

"Do  you  really  want  to  go,  daddy?"  she  returned. 

"We  can't  stay  here,  Nance,  that's  certain.  I  could 
not  live  with  such  a  crowd  swarming  around  us.  There 
would  no  longer  be  any  charm  for  me  here. ' ' 

* '  But  there  would  be  no  quietness  outside,  daddy. ' ' 
'That's  different,  quite  different." 

Nance  lowered  her  eyes  and  toyed  for  some  time  with 
her  cup.  Martin  watched  her  anxiously.  He  knew  as 
well  as  if  she  had  told  him  why  she  did  not  wish  to 
leave  the  country  now.  But  he  must  get  her  away  for- 
ever from  the  influence  of  the  young  usurper,  who  would 
undoubtedly  return. 

Although  Nance  was  very  quiet,  a  great  struggle,  nev- 
ertheless, was  taking  place  within  her  breast.  She 
wished  to  stay,  to  see  Dick  again.  But  her  duty  must 
be  to  Martin  first.  He  it  was  who  had  done  so  much 
for  her,  and  her  love  for  him  was  deep  and  sincere. 
How  could  she  see  him  stay  if  his  heart  was  set  upon 


HEART  THRUSTS  161 

leaving  the  place  ?  Rising  from  the  table,  she  threw  her 
arms  about  Martin's  neck. 

"Daddy,"  and  her  face  came  close  to  his  as  she  spoke, 
"I  will  go  with  you  whenever  the  time  comes.  You 
are  all  I  have  in  the  world  who  really  loves  me,  so  why 
should  I  care  to  remain  here?" 

Martin  caught  her  hand  in  his,  drew  down  her  face, 
and  kissed  her.  Tears  came  into  his  eyes,  and  when  he 
tried  to  speak  he  found  it  difficult  to  form  the  words. 
He  rose  abruptly  to  his  feet,  and  dashed  his  hand  across 
his  eyes. 

"There,  there,  little  one,"  and  a  smile  such  as  Nance 
had  never  seen  illumined  his  face.  "I  know  you  love 
me,  and  it  makes  me  happy.  It  will  be  hard  for  you  to 
leave,  but " 

At  that  instant  a  hoarse,  raucous  sound  fell  upon 
their  ears  with  a  startling  intensity.  They  looked  at 
each  other,  and  then  hurried  to  the  door,  opened  it, 
and  stepped  outside. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  ROYAL  BOUNTY 

FT1HE  Northern  Packet,  the  little  flat-bottom,  stern- 
A  wheel  steamer,  had  made  a  notable  trip  up  the 
Heena  River.  She  was  the  first  that  had  ever  ploughed 
the  waters  of  this  crooked  stream.  Every  foot  of  the 
•way  she  had  to  contend  with  the  swift  current,  and 
there  was  constant  danger  from  sandbars,  which,  like 
long  fingers,  were  thrust  out  below  the  surface.  No 
pilot  had  hitherto  navigated  that  river,  and  great  care 
had  to  be  exercised. 

Thus  for  several  days  the  steamer  nosed  her  way  into 
the  wilderness.  Her  incessant  wheezing  and  puffing 
startled  the  wary  denizens  of  the  region.  Rabbits  scur- 
ried away  in  affright;  foxes  hurried  off  under  cover; 
moose,  grazing  in  wild  meadows,  lifted  their  great  heads, 
Stared  for  an  instant  at  the  strange  monster  on  the 
river,  snorted,  and  with  long,  swinging  strides  sought 
refuge  among  the  tall  trees. 

But  the  Northern  Packet  was  well  accustomed  to 
startling  the  creatures  of  the  wilderness.  She  had  been 
doing  it  on  her  long,  tedious  run  of  over  two  thousand 
miles  up  the  mighty  Yukon  River.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  that  she  had  done  so,  either.  Hers  were  the  first 

162 


THE  ROYAL  BOUNTY  163 

blasts  which  had  awakened  the  silence  of  the  land  for 
several  years  past.  She  had  made  it  a  point  to  be  the 
first  steamer  to  contend  with  running  ice,  and  other 
dangers  of  that  northern  stream,  to  carry  supplies  to 
lone  miners  and  prospectors  encamped  along  the  banks. 
No  sound  was  so  welcome  to  the  weary  watchers  as  her 
hoarse  whistle,  and  no  sight  so  dear  to  straining  eyes 
as  her  scarred  prow  breasting  the  racing  stream. 

But  never  before  had  the  Northern  Packet  started 
upon  such  an  uncertain  venture  as  the  run  up  the 
Heena  to  the  Klutana  Lake.  Neither  had  she  ever  car- 
ried such  a  throng  of  excited  and  anxious  men  as  those 
which  now  crowded  her  almost  to  overflowing.  Word 
of  the  new  strike  had  drifted  down  the  Yukon,  and  by 
the  time  the  steamer  reached  Rapid  City  it  looked  as  if 
she  could  carry  no  more.  But  in  some  mysterious  man- 
ner room  was  made.  There  was  no  limit  set  by  stern 
authority  as  to  the  number  of  passengers  she  should 
carry.  It  was  simply  climb  on  board  and  room  would 
be  made  somehow.  All  the  freight  which  had  been  con- 
signed for  points  farther  down  river  was  still  on  board, 
and  this  took  up  considerable  space  on  the  lower  deck. 
But  wherever  there  was  a  nook  some  one  was  stowed, 
and  at  night  those  who  could  not  curl  themselves  up  on 
the  floor  were  forced  to  stand  and  wait  their  turn.  But 
notwithstanding  the  inconveniences  a  remarkable  spirit 
of  harmony  prevailed.  Those  who  had  already  staked 
their  claims  were  looking  eagerly  forward  to  large  clean- 
ups, while  those  who  had  never  been  up  the  river  before 
were  greatly  encouraged  by  the  reports  they  heard  of 
the  richness  of  the  land. 

Dick  Russell  was  as  anxious  as  any  of  the  men  on  the 


164  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

steamer  to  reach  Lake  Klutana.  It  was  not  the  gold  he 
craved  to  see,  but  the  young  woman  whose  face  was 
enshrined  in  his  heart.  He  was  somewhat  worried  for 
her  sake.  He  feared  the  crowd  of  men  thronging  the 
boat.  Some  of  them,  he  knew,  were  Nature's  gentle- 
men, but  there  were  others  who  could  not  be  trusted. 
He  believed  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  keep  a  strict 
watch  upon  "The  Twins."  That  they  had  some  mis- 
chief in  their  minds  he  was  quite  certain,  and  it  was 
only  natural  that  he  should  think  of  Nance.  As  for  the 
newcomers,  who  came  from  the  lower  river,  he  knew 
very  little  about  them.  He  had  overheard  some  of  them 
talking,  however,  and  the  stories  they  had  told  filled 
him  with  apprehension.  He  was  determined,  at  any 
rate,  to  put  Nance  on  her  guard  against  such  men,  and 
to  protect  her  from  any  injury. 

He  was  standing  on  deck,  well  forward,  when  the 
Northern  Packet  steamed  out  of  the  Heena  into  Lake 
Klutana.  Eagerly  he  strained  his  eyes  for  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  little  cabin  nestling  on  the  bank  among 
the  trees.  When  the  loud,  coarse  blasts  of  the  whistle 
rent  the  air  he  saw  the  Indians  running  to  the  shore 
in  amazement.  Then  as  the  steamer  swept  forward 
Martin's  house  appeared  to  view,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes he  was  able  to  see  two  figures  standing  in  the  door- 
way. 

There  was  much  excitement  on  board  as  the  steamer 
slowed  down,  drifted  slowly  into  shore,  and  her  bow 
ran  gently  upon  the  sand  and  gravel  right  in  front  of 
Martin's  house.  Then  ensued  a  wild  scramble  for  the 
shore,  but  Dick  was  the  first  to  land,  and  without  waiting 
an  instant  he  ran  swiftly  up  the  slope  straight  toward 


THE  ROYAL  BOUNTY  165 

Nance.  The  expression  upon  the  latter 's  face  was  one 
of  supreme  joy  as  she  held  out  her  hands  to  the  young- 
man. 

"My!  it's  good  to  be  back,"  Dick  panted,  as  he  took 
her  hand  in  his.  "How  are  you,  sir?"  and  he  turned 
to  Martin. 

""Well,  very  well,"  was  the  somewhat  reluctant  reply. 
Martin  then  relapsed  into  silence,  and  stood  watching 
the  miners  scrambling  off  the  steamer. 

But  various  conflicting  emotions  were  disturbing  Mar- 
tin's  heart.  He  longed  to  turn  upon  the  visitor  and 
drive  him  away  from  the  place.  The  look  of  happiness 
in  Nance's  eyes,  however,  deterred  him  from  action. 
How  could  he  bring  sorrow  to  her  who  was  dearer  to  him, 
than  life  itself? 

He  was  standing  thus  uncertain  what  to  do,  when  a 
cry  of  pain  down  by  the  shore  caused  the  three  to  turn 
quickly  in  the  direction  from  whence  the  sound  came. 
There  was  excitement  there,  and  the  men  were  gathered 
around  some  object,  and  were  talking  in  a  most  excited 
manner. 

Fearing  that  something  was  seriously  the  matter,  Dick 
left  Nance,  and  hurried  at  once  to  the  spot. 

"What's  wrong?"  he  asked  of  those  standing  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  crowd. 

"Pete  Larsen's  hurt,"  was  the  reply.  "In  jumping 
from  the  boat  his  foot  caught,  and  he  came  down  hard 
on  the  ground." 

Dick  at  once  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and 
those  gathered  about  the  unfortunate  man  fell  back  a 
little  as  he  approached. 

"It's  his  leg,"  Dick  explained,  after  he  had  made  a 


166  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

brief  examination.  "I'm  afraid  it's  broken.  We  must 
get  bim  away  from  here  as  soon  as  possible. ' ' 

"Put  him  back  on  the  steamer,"  was  the  suggestion 
of  several.  "He  can  go  down  to  the  mission  station. 
They'll  look  after  him  there  better  than  we  can." 

"No,  no!"  moaned  the  injured  man.  "For  God's 
sake,  let  me  stay !  I  must  stake  my  claim. ' ' 

"Guess  he'll  have  to  stay,"  spoke  up  the  captain  of 
the  Packet.  "We  couldn't  do  anything  with  him  on 
board.  He  needs  attention  at  once,  and  more  than  we 
can  give  him." 

"You  are  right,"  Dick  replied.  "He  must  remain 
here.  We'll  look  after  you,  Pete,  so  don't  worry." 

By  this  time  Martin  had  joined  the  crowd,  and  was 
listening  to  the  conversation. 

"Bring  him  up  to  my  house,"  he  quietly  remarked. 
"We'll  take  care  of  him  as  well  as  we  can." 

At  these  words  the  miners  turned  and  looked  upon  the 
speaker.  They  were  surprised  .  at  his  sudden  appear- 
ance in  their  midst,  and  several  questioned  one  another 
as  to  where  he  had  come  from. 

Dick  at  once  motioned  to  the  men  standing  near,  who 
lifted  Pete  in  their  arms  and  carried  him  as  gently  as 
they  could  up  the  slope  to  Martin's  house,  and  laid  him 
upon  the  cot  within  the  building. 

"It  is  a  pity  that  we  are  giving  you  so  much  trouble," 
Dick  apologised,  as  Nance  met  him  at  the  door.  ' '  We  are 
certainly  making  a  hospital  out  of  your  house. ' ' 

"We  do  not  mind,"  was  the  reply.  "It  is  so  nice  to 
be  able  to  help  people  in  trouble." 

"I  am  afraid  there  may  be  more  who  will  need  assist- 
ance, ' '  and  the  young  man  turned  his  face  sadly  toward 


THE  ROYAL  BOUNTY  167. 

the  lake.  "Among  all  that  crowd  there's  something 
sure  to  be  happening  every  day." 

Martin  stood  near  at  hand  and  watched  Dick  as  he 
reset  the  broken  leg  and  put  it  in  splints.  He  could  not 
help  admiring  the  skilful  way  in  which  everything  was 
done.  As  he  looked  upon  the  stricken  man  lying  before 
him  he  was  thankful  for  the  first  time  that  Dick  Eussell 
was  present.  If  he  were  simply  a  medical  man  and  not 
a  missionary,  Martin  would  have  been  delighted.  He 
thought  of  the  days  years  ago  when,  in  his  old  parish  in 
Eastern  Canada,  he  had  longed  to  be  a  doctor  as  well 
as  a  clergyman.  There  had  been  several  outlying  places 
where  the  people  were  very  poor.  What  a  comfort  it 
would  have  been  to  them,  and  what  an  assistance  to  him 
in  his  work,  could  he  have  attended  to  their  bodily 
wants.  And  now  this  young  man  was  doing  what  he 
had  desired  to  do,  and  was  unable  through  lack  of 
training. 

A  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  came  over  Martin  as 
he  watched  Dick  doing  so  much  for  the  stricken  miner. 
Here  was  this  man,  young  in  years,  doing  an  unselfish 
work,  while  he  himself  was  useless.  The  missionary  had 
given  up  home  and  the  comforts  of  civilisation,  and  was 
living  in  the  wilderness,  not  for  the  sake  of  gold,  but 
to  help  others.  And  what  was  he  himself  doing?  He 
had  disgraced  his  calling;  his  Church  had  cast  him  out, 
and  he  in  turn  had  repudiated  her.  He  had  thought 
that  it  would  be  an  easy  thing  to  free  himself  from  her 
influence.  But  here,  right  in  the  region  where  he  be- 
lieved that  he  would  be  safe  from  all  interference,  and 
in  his  own  cabin  at  that,  stood  a  clergyman  of  the 
Church  which  had  cast  him  out  forever. 


168  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

Then  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  been  deposed 
came  the  feeling  of  his  own  selfishness.  "What  had  he 
really  accomplished  during  his  long  sojourn  in  the  wil- 
derness? A  longing  suddenly  rose  in  his  heart  to  take 
up  the  work  he  had  abandoned  so  many  years  before. 
He  recalled  the  high  ideals  which  had  animated  his  soul 
when  he  took  charge  of  his  first  and  only  parish.  They 
were  just  as  lofty  and  noble,  he  believed,  as  those  of  the 
young  man  now  standing  before  him. 

After  the  injured  man  was  resting  as  comfortably  as 
could  be  expected,  Martin,  Nance,  and  Dick  sat  for  a 
while  outside  the  door.  The  evening  was  balmy  and 
the  air  delightful.  The  Northern  Packet  had  moved 
away,  and  was  lying  close  to  the  shore  just  across  the 
mouth  of  the  Quaska.  Dick  related  his  experiences  on 
the  steamer,  and  told  in  a  humorous  way  the  incon- 
veniences the  passengers  endured.  Martin  had  very 
little  to  say  for  some  time.  He  leaned  back  against  the 
house,  smoking  and  listening  intently.  Nance  was  very 
happy.  Often  she  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  Dick 's  face, 
and  at  times  her  joyous  laugh  rippled  forth  at  some  droll 
story. 

The  sun  had  just  swung  low  behind  a  tall  mountain 
peak  and  heavy  shadows  were  lying  athwart  the  calm 
surface  of  the  lake.  The  only  sounds  which  disturbed 
the  peaceful  scene  came  from  the  men  unloading  the 
steamer.  Martin  gazed  over  the  water  and  far  beyond 
the  black  forest.  His  pipe  was  clutched  in  his  right 
hand,  and  he  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  oblivious 
as  to  his  surroundings.  Presently  he  shifted  a  little  on 
the  bench  and  glanced  at  Dick.  The  latter  was  sitting 
near  Nance,  silent,  and  watching  with  her  the  operations 


THE  ROYAL  BOUNTY  169 

going  on  across  the  river.  Martin  beheld  the  thoughtful 
young  faces  aglow  with  a  light  which  was  more  than  the 
reflection  of  the  departing  sun. 

"What  led  you  to  come  into  this  country?"  Martin 
quietly  asked,  turning  toward  Dick. 

The  latter  gave  a  slight  start,  as  if  aroused  from  a 
dream,  and  looked  searchingly  into  his  inquirer's  face. 

"It  was  the  Royal  Bounty  which  did  it,"  was  the 
slow  reply. 

' '  The  Royal  Bounty !    I  don 't  understand. ' ' 

"No,  it  is  not  likely  that  you  should.  It  is  all  very 
simple  and  beautiful  to  me,  however." 

"Go  on,"  Martin  commanded,  as  Dick  paused,  and 
looked  once  more  out  over  the  water. 

"Would  you  really  like  to  hear  my  little  story  which 
I  have  never  told  to  any  one  before?" 

"Certainly.    That  is,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"No,  not  at  all.  But  I  should  not  like  to  tell  it  to 
every  one.  Few  there  are  in  the  world,  it  seems  to  me, 
who  would  understand.  It  was  all  through  a  sermon 
about  the  Royal  Bounty  which  I  heard  years  ago  from 
the  lips  of  a  dear  old  clergyman.  He  spoke  about  King 
Solomon  giving  to  the  Queen  of  Sheba  all  the  things  she 
asked  for,  and  then  he  added  of  his  own  free  will  of 
his  Royal  Bounty.  I  cannot  remember  now  all  that  he 
said,  but  the  sermon  made  a  very  strong  impression 
upon  my  heart  and  mind.  Several  thoughts,  however, 
I  can  never  forget.  He  showed  how  God  is  always  giv- 
ing us  of  His  Royal  Bounty,  that  is,  blessings  over  and 
above  what  we  actually  need.  The  earth,  for  instance, 
might  have  been  made  all  stony,  but  He  added  flowers 
to  give  us  joy.  Birds  are  not  absolutely  necessary.  He 


170  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

could  have  made  the  seasons,  the  sun,  fields,  and  for- 
ests. But  He  gave  of  His  Royal  Bounty,  and  added  the 
birds  to  change  the  silence  into  song.  He  also  showed 
that  Christ  could  have  gone  through  life  working  at  His 
tasks  like  other  men.  But  He  was  not  content  to  do 
that  alone.  He  was  ever  going  about  doing  good.  He 
threw  in,  so  to  speak,  the  Royal  Bounty,  that  is,  bless- 
ings which  were  not  expected. 

"I  was  somewhat  unsettled  in  my  mind  at  the  time  I 
heard  that  sermon,  and  it  started  me  thinking  along  new 
lines.  I  had  open  before  me  a  business  career,  with 
every  opportunity  for  great  success.  But  that  sermon 
changed  my  mind  completely.  I  desired  to  become  more 
than  a  mere  successful  business  machine.  Life  took  on 
a  'new  aspect.  I  wished  to  do  something  that  would 
bring  the  greatest  joy  to  others.  With  this  object  in 
view  I  entered  college  to  study  for  the  Ministry,  and  in 
due  time  took  my  degree.  I  was  not  satisfied  with  this, 
however,  and  longed  to  be  better  fitted  for  my  life's 
work.  With  my  father's  permission  I  entered  McGill 
University,  and  studied  medicine.  When  I  was  through 
there  I  was  ordained.  This  was  a  great  day  for  me,  and 
yet  I  was  not  altogether  satisfied.  A  comfortable  parish 
I  could  have  entered  at  once,  and  carried  on  the  work 
for  which  I  had  been  prepared.  But  I  wished  to  do 
more,  something  which  was  not  expected  of  me,  such 
as  caring  for  the  bodies  as  well  as  for  the  souls  of  those  * 
among  whom  I  laboured.  I  have  always  believed  that 
the  two  should  go  together,  and  am  now  more  convinced 
of  it  than  ever." 

" Quite  true,  quite  true,"  Martin  interposed.     "But 
how  did  you  happen  to  come  into  such  a  region  as  this, 


THE  KOYAL  BOUNTY  171 

when  you  might  have  done  such  a  good  work  outside  ? ' ' 

"I  am  coming  to  that,"  Dick  replied.  "It,  as  well, 
was  all  due  to  the  Royal  Bounty  idea.  You  see,  this 
caused  me  to  enter  the  Ministry  and  to  study  medicine 
that  I  might  make  the  most  of  life  and  do  as  much  good 
as  possible.  I,  accordingly,  looked  around  for  a  field  in 
which  to  begin  my  work.  Everywhere  I  found  earnest 
clergymen  and  doctors  devoting  themselves  to  the  souls 
and  bodies  of  people  in  their  various  parishes,  so  my 
service  of  a  dual  nature  was  not  required.  One  night 
I  heard  an  address  by  a  missionary  who  had  been  work- 
ing for  years  in  the  northland.  He  appealed  for  men,  and 
impressed  me  so  strongly  that  I  at  once  responded.  That 
was  five  years  ago,  and  I  have  been  up  here  ever  since. ' ' 

"And  you  have  never  regretted  the  step?"  Martin 
queried. 

"No,  not  for  a  single  moment.  "Whether  I  have  done 
any  good  or  dispensed  the  Royal  Bounty  is  not  for  me 
to  judge.  But  in  living  among  men  on  the  ragged  edge 
of  civilisation  and  trying  to  help  them  body  and  soul  has 
given  me  great  happiness.  I  would  not  exchange  my  lot 
for  the  most  favoured  being  on  earth." 

There  was  a  long  silence  when  Dick  ended  his  story. 
He  sat  quietly  by  Nance's  side,  and  compared  the  past 
with  the  present.  He  had  fondly  believed  that  his  life 
was  full  to  overflowing.  But  now  what  a  difference. 
There  was  added  a  new  happiness,  a  love  such  as  he 
had  never  experienced  before. 

Martin,  too,  was  silent.  Thoughts,  too  deep  for  words, 
were  passing  through  his  mind.  In  his  heart  as  well  as 
in  Dick's  a  new  life  had  arisen,  although  of  a  far  dif- 
ferent nature. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

BEGINNINGS 

MORNING  dawned  clear  and  fresh.  The  sun  was 
abroad  early,  and  the  filmy  mist  hovering  over 
the  lake  soon  vanished  before  the  hot  rays.  The  gold- 
seekers  on  the  shore  were  astir  at  break  of  day.  Some, 
in  fact,  had  been  busy  all  night  selecting  suitable  sites 
and  pitching  their  tents.  The  steamer  was  nearly  un- 
loaded, and  the  captain  was  anxious  to  hurry  down  the 
river  as  speedily  as  possible  to  return  with  another 
cargo  before  the  summer  was  over. 

The  miners  had  chosen  this  spot  for  their  encamp- 
ment because  it  was  on  the  side  of  the  Quaska  River 
where  the  gold  had  been  discovered.  They  would  thus 
not  have  to  cross  the  stream,  but  simply  follow  the  trail 
to  the  diggings.  They  wished  to  settle  near  the  lake  so 
that  the  steamers  could  land  their  goods  right  at  their 
doors,  otherwise  it  would  be  difficult  to  take  the  whole 
of  their  supplies  up  river.  They  could  easily  pack  what 
they  would  need  for  several  days,  and  could  always  come 
back  to  the  lake  for  more. 

Dick  stood  in  the  door  of  Martin 's  house  watching  the 
animated  scene  across  the  river.  Not  a  ripple  stirred 
the  surface  of  the  lake,  and  the  dark  trees  and  the  tower- 
ing mountains  were  reflected  in  the  clear,  deep  water. 

172 


BEGINNINGS  173 

It  appealed  to  his  poetic  nature.  He  had  beheld  many 
grand  sights  since  coming  north,  but  this  was  the  most 
beautiful  and  majestic  upon  which  he  had  ever  gazed. 
"What  grandeur,"  he  mused,  "and  to  think  that  she 
has  been  living  here  in  the  midst  of  it  all  for  years,  far 
away  from  the  tumult  of  the  world. ' ' 

A  step  at  his  side  caused  him  to  turn,  and  his  eyes 
rested  upon  the  object  of  his  thoughts. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful,"  Nance  remarked  in  response  to 
Dick 's  greeting.  ' '  I  love  the  lake,  mountains,  and  trees. 
I  have  looked  upon  them  ever  since  I  was  a  child,  and 
they  are  very  near  to  my  heart." 

"How  fortunate  they  are,"  the  young  man  mur- 
mured, gazing  with  admiration  upon  her  bright  face. 

"Oh,  they  know  nothing  about  it,"  Nance  laughed. 
"It  is  an  all  one-sided  love,  you  see." 

"I  wish  that  I  could  change  places  with  them  for  a 
while.  I  wonder  if  your  feelings  would  be  the  same 
then." 

A  deep  flush  suffused  Nance's  cheeks  at  these  words, 
and  her  eyes  dropped  for  an  instant.  Dick  noticed  her 
embarrassment,  and  he  was  afraid  lest  he  had  offended 
her. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  hastened  to  explain.  "I  fear  that 
I  have  said  too  much.  I  allowed  my  heart  to  overcome 
my  head,  or,  in  other  words,  I  made  a  fool  of  myself. ' ' 

"You  didn't  offend  me,"  Nance  shyly  replied.  "I 
was  thinking  how  funny  it  would  be  if  you  took  the 
place  of  the  mountains,  trees,  and  lake. ' ' 

"And  why?"  Dick  questioned. 

"Because  you  would  have  such  a  hard  time  of  it. 
You  have  only  seen  them  in  peace  and  sunshine.  If 


174  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

you  could  look  upon  them  as  I  have,  when  a  fierce  storm 
is  raging  over  the  land,  you  would  not  envy  them  then. 
But  I  love  them  just  the  same.  I  like  to  hear  the  wind 
roaring  down  the  valley,  to  see  the  trees  shake  and  bend, 
and  the  water  of  the  lake  lashed  into  foam.  Oh,  it  is 
grand ! ' ' 

Dick  looked  with  amazement  into  the  face  of  the  young 
woman  at  his  side.  He  saw  it  transformed.  Her  cheeks 
were  aglow,  and  her  eyes  were  very  bright  as  she  gazed 
far  off  into  space  and  beheld  the  scene  she  so  vividly 
described.  He  knew;  that  it  was  no  ordinary  woman 
that  uttered  such  words.  Though  naturally  quiet  and 
reserved,  there  were  within  her  soul  great  depths  of 
thought.  She  was  in  harmony  with  her  surroundings, 
and  her  rich  blood  pulsated  to  the  tunes  of  the  moods 
of  the  wilderness.  All  this  appealed  strongly  to  Dick. 
To  him  she  was  the  most  beautiful  and  yet  mysterious 
woman  he  had  ever  met.  Everything  she  said  and  did 
was  so  natural.  There  was  nothing  artificial  or  unreal 
about  her.  To  her  the  veneer  of  polite  social  life  was 
unknown. 

As  these  thoughts  passed  through  Dick's  mind  Martin 
suddenly  appeared,  hurrying  along  the  trail  from  the 
forest.  His  rifle  was  over  his  shoulder,  and  he  carried 
in  his  hand  several  grouse  he  had  recently  shot.  With  a 
cry  of  joy  Nance  sprang  to  meet  him,  and  Martin's  face 
brightened  as  she  drew  near.  Taking  the  grouse  from 
his  hand,  she  walked  by  his  side. 

"Where  have  you  been,  daddy?"  she  asked.  "We 
have  been  waiting  breakfast  for  you." 

"I  am  sorry,  Nance,  that  I  have  kept  you  waiting," 
was  the  reply.  "But  I  have  been  out  on  the  hills  for 


BEGINNINGS  175 

several  hours.  And  how  is  Pete?"  was  his  greeting  to 
Dick  as  he  reached  the  door. 

"Doing  as  well  as  can  be  expected.  He  has  had  a 
fairly  good  night." 

During  breakfast  Martin  had  very  little  to  say,  and 
Dick  observed  him  as  carefully  as  he  could  without 
arousing  any  suspicion.  He  noted  that  his  host  seemed 
ill  at  ease,  that  his  face  was  drawn  and  haggard,  and 
that  his  eyes  were  big  and  staring.  He  seemed  like  a 
man  who  had  been  awake  all  night,  and  whose  thoughts 
were  troubling  him.  He  wondered  if  Nance  saw  any- 
thing amiss  with  her  father.  He  longed  to  speak  to  her, 
but  had  no  opportunity  just  then.  "When  the  meal  was 
over  Dick  tended  to  the  wants  of  the  injured  man  lying 
on  the  cot,  and  then  made  ready  to  leave  the  house. 

"May  I  have  the  use  of  your  canoe,  sir?"  he  asked, 
turning  to  Martin. 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  was  the  jerky  reply,  and  Dick 
wondered  more  than  ever. 

He  thought  much  concerning  the  man's  strange  ap- 
pearance as  he  paddled  swiftly  across  to  the  encamp- 
ment on  the  opposite  shore.  Here  he  found  confusion 
and  excitement.  Men  were  busy  unloading  the  steamer, 
and  the  miners  were  searching  for  their  goods  among 
the  piles  of  stuff  thrown  out  upon  the  bank.  With  diffi- 
culty Dick  rescued  his  own  meagre  outfit,  and  carried  it 
to  a  secure  place.  Opening  one  of  the  bundles,  he  lifted 
out  a  small  leather  writing-case,  from  which  he  took  a 
sheet  of  paper  and  an  envelope.  Seating  himself  upon 
his  rolled-up  tent,  he  began  to  write.  This  letter  was 
the  outcome  of  many  thoughts  which  had  been  surging 
through  his  mind  for  days  past.  Several  times  while 


176  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

on  the  river  he  had  been  upon  the  point  of  doing  this, 
but  had  always  put  it  off  until  a  more  favourable  oppor- 
tunity. The  accident  which  had  happened  to  Pete,  and 
the  fact  that  the  steamer  was  soon  to  depart,  made  any 
further  delay  unavoidable.  He  knew  that  help  would 
be  needed  if  he  were  to  accomplish  any  definite  work 
among  the  miners.  There  was  only  one  place  to  which 
he  could  turn,  and  if  he  neglected  to  send  a  message  now 
it  might  be  too  late  when  the  next  steamer  arrived. 

When  he  had  finished  the  letter  he  went  on  board  the 
Northern  Packet  and  gave  it  to  the  captain,  with  strict 
instructions  to  deliver  it  at  the  mission  station  of  The 
Good  Samaritan  down  river. 

Hurrying  ashore,  he  started  to  work  at  once  upon 
his  tent.  The  place  he  chose  for  his  abode  was  a  snug 
spot  near  several  large  jack-pines.  It  took  him  most  of 
the  morning  to  complete  the  task  of  erecting  his  tent, 
and  when  at  last  all  was  finished  he  stood  and  looked 
upon  his  handiwork  with  much  satisfaction.  The  tent 
shone  white  beneath  the  sun,  and  not  a  wrinkle  marred 
the  smoothness  of  the  well-stretched  canvas. 

"While  Dick  had  been  thus  busy  at  work  dozens  of  men 
around  him  were  also  erecting  their  humble,  flimsy 
abodes.  A  row  of  tents  had  been  stretched  along  the 
water  front,  several  yards  back  from  the  shore  of  the 
lake.  Higher  up  on  the  shelving  bank  others  were 
placed,  while  a  street  ran  between.  On  all  sides  pound- 
ing and  shouting  continued  throughout  the  day.  Men 
were  constantly  moving  about,  all  hustling  as  fast  as 
they  could  in  order  to  get  through  with  their  work  as 
speedily  as  possible.  It  was  the  rude  beginning  of  a 
frontier  mining  camp,  which  would  develop  later  into 


BEGINNINGS  177. 

a  town  of  wooden  houses  of  considerable  importance. 

One  tent  much  larger  than  any  of  the  rest  was  being 
erected  right  in  the  centre  of  the  encampment.  Dick 
watched  this  with  more  than  ordinary  interest.  The 
men  who  were  doing  the  work  had  come  up  from  the 
lower  river  and  were  strangers  to  him,  although  he  had 
seen  them  on  the  steamer.  He  had  not  liked  their  ap- 
pearance when  first  he  saw  them,  and  they  impressed 
him  now  more  unfavourably  than  ever.  There  were 
three  of  them,  rough  and  foul-mouthed.  At  first  he  had 
partly  suspected  the  object  of  their  visit  into  the  coun- 
try. Now  he  was  certain  that  they  were  not  miners, 
but  liquor  dealers,  and  the  tent  they  were  erecting  was 
to  be  the  saloon.  Several  cases  piled  together  contained 
whiskey,  he  was  quite  sure,  and  when  these  were  opened 
he  well  knew  what  the  result  would  be.  There  was  no 
one  in  authority  to  keep  law  and  order,  and  he  shud- 
dered as  he  thought  of  the  wrild  scenes  which  would 
ensue  when  the  whiskey  began  to  be  circulated  among 
the  miners. 

He  naturally  thought  of  Nance,  and  his  face  grew 
grave  as  he  realised  the  danger  to  which  she  would  be 
constantly  exposed.  What  regard  would  drink-inflamed 
men  have  for  the  purity  and  the  honour  of  the  beauti- 
ful woman  across  the  river?  he  asked  himself  over  and 
over  again.  Already,  no  doubt,  they  knew  of  her  pres- 
ence in  the  little  cabin.  When  sober  they  might  not 
interfere  with  her,  but  when  mad  with  the  demon  of 
whiskey  there  was  no  telling  what  they  might  do.  There 
were  several  men  in  the  camp  he  could  trust,  especially 
Tom  and  Dad.  But  what  could  a  few  do  against  so 
many? 


178  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

The  presence  of  Sam  Pelchie  and  Dave  Purvis  dis- 
turbed him.  They  had  put  up  their  miserable  little 
tents,  and  were  now  loitering  around,  always  together. 
Several  times  Dick  saw  them  engaged  in  earnest  con- 
versation and  casting  furtive  glances  at  the  cabin  across 
the  Quaska.  He  suspected  these  men,  and  firmly  be- 
lieved that  they  had  some  sinister  motive  in  their  minds. 
"Could  it  be  of  Nance  they  were  talking?"  he  mused. 
' '  Had  they  heard  of  her  down  at  Rapid  City,  and  were 
their  veiled  remarks  in  reference  to  her  when  they  had 
spoken  about  Martin?"  The  more  he  thought  of  these 
things,  the  more  uneasy  he  became.  Just  what  to  do 
he  did  not  know,  but  he  was  determined  to  be  on  his 
guard,  and  keep  as  sharp  a  watch  as  possible  over  the 
movements  of  the  two  men. 

During  the  rest  of  the  day  Dick  made  himself  useful 
in  helping  his  neighbours.  The  men  who  had  lived  all 
winter  at  Rapid  City  were  not  in  the  least  surprised  at 
the  assistance  he  gave,  for  they  knew  him  of  old.  But 
the  newcomers  were  much  astonished,  and  all  agreed 
that  the  young  "parson  chap  was  a  real  sort  of  a  man 
after  all." 

That  evening  Dick  crossed  the  river  to  see  Nance  and 
his  patient.  He  found  the  former  ^seated  by  Martin  in 
front  of  the  house,  for  the  evening  was  very  mild.  She 
greeted  the  visitor  with  a  smile  as  he  sat  down  upon  the 
bench  at  her  side.  Martin  had  very  little  to  say,  and 
while  he  puffed  at  his  pipe  the  young  people  talked 
about  the  miners  over  the  river. 

Dick  was  full  of  plans  which  had  been  revolving  in 
his  mind  all  day.  He  said  nothing  about  the  saloon  nor 
his  suspicions  as  to  what  the  miners  might  do  when  in- 


BEGINNINGS  179 

flamed  with  whiskey.  He  did  not  wish  to  alarm  Nance, 
and  if  necessary  he  would  speak  to  Martin  privately. 
His  face  became  animated  as  he  told  about  the  church 
he  hoped  to  build  and  the  hospital  tent  he  expected 
would  be  sent  up  from  the  mission  station  down  river. 
"I  believe  they  can  spare  it,"  he  added,  "for  the  mis- 
sionary in  charge  told  me  that  he  had  one  he  could  let 
me  have  if  ever  I  wanted  it." 

' '  So  you  think  there  will  be  need  of  a  hospital,  then  ? '  * 
Martin  remarked. 

"Certainly.  We  can't  tell  how  soon  several  of  those 
chaps  may  get  knocked  out  and  will  need  attention.  It 
has  been  the  way  in  other  large  mining  camps,  and  this 
one  is  not  likely  to  be  an  exception." 

"Will  you  be  able  to  care  for  them  yourself?"  Mar- 
tin inquired.  "It  will  be  quite  an  undertaking,  will 
it  not?" 

"I  have  considered  that  matter  very  carefully  and 
believe  there  will  be  no  trouble.  I  have  written  to 
the  mission  station  down  river,  asking  for  a  trained 
nurse.  I  think  they  can  spare  one.  As  soon  as  the 
tent  comes  I  shall  be  able  to  hold  services  in  it  until  we 
get  a  church  built." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  church?"  Nance  simply 
asked. 

Dick  gave  a  start,  and  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"What!"  he  demanded,  "didn't  you  ever  hear  of  a 
church?" 

"Only  in  books,  but  I  could  never  understand  what 
the  word  meant.  I  suppose  it  is  one  of  those  wonderful 
things  that  people  have  in  the  great  outside  world." 

Dick  now  looked  at  Martin  as  if  expecting  him  to 


180  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

speak.  But  the  latter  was  gazing  far  off  over  the  lake, 
to  all  appearance  seeking  and  hearing  nothing  around 
him.  His  pipe  was  clutched  firmly  in  his  right  hand. 
He  was  sitting  very  straight,  with  body  tense  and  rigid. 
At  length  he  arose  abruptly  to  his  feet. 

"Nance  doesn't  know,"  and  he  turned  to  the  young 
man  as  he  spoke.  ' '  Tell  her  if  you  like.  I  shall  be  back 
presently. ' ' 

When  he  returned  about  an  hour  later  he  found  the 
young  couple  sitting  where  he  had  left  them.  He  was 
quick  to  note  the  expression  of  happiness  upon  their 
faces.  They  had  eyes  only  for  each  other,  and  they 
could  not  read  the  writing  upon  the  countenance  of 
the  man  who  slowly  approached,  and  sank  down  wearily 
upon  the  seat  he  had  vacated.  They  little  realised  that 
while  they  were  engaged  in  such  a  pleasant  conversa- 
tion Martin  had  been  wrestling  hard  with  his  own 
heart  as  he  paced  to  and  fro  along  the  margin  of  the 
lake.  It  was  not  for  them  to  know  of  the  forces  which 
had  risen  in  his  soul,  and  which  at  times  had  almost 
gained  the  mastery.  It  was  not  easy  to  break  the  cords 
which  had  bound  him  for  years.  He  had  taken  such 
a  grim  joy  in  his  spirit  of  rebellion,  and  the  proud 
resolve  that  he  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
the  Church  which  had  cast  him  out.  And  yet  in  the 
presence  of  the  missionary  old  longings  returned  which 
he  had  imagined  were  dead  and  buried  forever.  He 
comprehended  now  more  than  ever  how  true  were  the 
bishop's  words.  He  had  believed  that  the  influence  of 
the  Church  was  merely  external.  But  now  he  knew 
that  it  was  within  him,  and  that  wherever  he  went  he 
Carried  with  him  the  teachings  he  had  received.  He 


BEGINNINGS  181 

understood  that  the  truths  which  had  been  engrained 
into  his  very  being  were  much  like  seeds.  They  might 
lie  dormant  for  years,  and  to  all  outward  appearance 
dead.  But  the  life  was  within  them  still,  and  through 
proper  environment  of  soil,  air,  and  sunshine  they  would 
spring  forth  into  vigorous  growth. 

"Oh,  daddy,"  was  Nance's  greeting.  "I  have  heard 
such  wonderful  things.  You  never  told  me  about  the 
Church.  But,"  and  here  her  voice  lowered,  "Dick  has 
been  telling  me  so  much." 

"Has  he?"  Martin  replied,  and  again  lapsed  into 
silence. 

The  missionary  remained  for  some  time  after  Martin 
returned,  relating  to  Nance  many  things  of  which  she 
knew  nothing.  To  all  this  she  listened  with  rapt  at- 
tention. What  she  heard  was  all  so  wonderful  to  her, 
and  Dick  was  so  enthusiastic  that  it  was  almost  impos- 
sible not  to  be  affected  by  his  spirit.  It  was  late  when 
at  length  he  arose,  and  looked  in  at  Pete.  Finding  him 
asleep  he  went  back  out  of  doors.  Nance  was  standing 
there,  but  Martin  had  gone  into  the  house.  He  stood 
by  her  side,  and  gazed  out  over  the  water.- 

"Beautiful,  isn't  it?"  he  remarked. 

"Yes,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "But  it  never  seemed  so 
lovely  as  to-night." 

"What's  the  reason,  do  you  think?"  Dick  queried. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  except  that  when  I  am  very 
happy  things  always  seem  more  beautiful  than  at  other 
times. ' ' 

As  Dick  watched  her  standing  there  an  intense  long- 
ing came  over  him  to  seize  in  his  those  well-shaped 
hands  which  were  clasped  before  her.  He  forebore, 


182  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

however,  and  stood  silently  by  her  side,  looking  with 
her  out  over  the  lake.  Speech  was  unnecessary,  for 
love  was  speaking  to  their  hearts  in  a  language  which 
could  not  be  expressed  in  mere  words. 


CHAPTER   XX 

UNDER   COVER   OF   NIGHT 

WHEN  Dick  left  Nance  at  the  cabin  door  and 
walked  slowly  down  to  the  river,  his  heart  was 
in  a  tumult  of  happiness  such  as  he  had  never  before 
experienced.  He  could  hear  the  sounds  of  laughing, 
talking,  and  shouting  among  the  miners,  late  though  it 
was.  He  suspected  that  some  of  the  men  had  been  drink- 
ing, and  were  accordingly  in  a  mood  of  riotous  mirth. 
He  did  not  wish  to  join  them  just  now.  What  con- 
nection had  he  with  their  revelry?  He  contrasted  the 
quietness  of  Martin's  cabin  with  the  confusion  over 
the  river.  On  the  one  side  there  was  Nance,  beautiful 
and  pure;  on  the  other,  men  destined  for  noble  pur- 
poses and  yet  willing  to  degrade  themselves  at  the  least 
opportunity.  What  could  he  do  to  make  those  men  see 
and  realise  something  of  the  joy  of  a  life  in  which  the 
evil  passions  were  subdued,  and  the  higher  virtues  were 
predominate?  Was  it  not  his  duty  as  a  missionary  in 
the  Great  Master's  Cause  to  stem  the  tide  of  evil  which 
was  about  to  set  in,  and,  if  possible,  to  check  the  moral 
depravity  which,  like  in  other  mining  camps,  always 
abounded?  But  what  could  one  man  do  against  so 
many?  He  could  speak  strong  words  of  denunciation, 
rebuke,  and  exhort.  But  he  knew  such  efforts  would  be 

183 


184  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

of  little  avail.  The  men  might  listen  but  they  would 
not  heed.  Some  issue  of  a  practical  nature,  he  was 
well  aware,  was  needed  to  cause  such  men  to  side  with 
right  against  wrong.  But  what  was  this  issue  to  be 
which  would  appeal  to  natures  such  as  theirs?  Not  a 
campaign  against  liquor  and  its  attending  evils,  he  was 
sure  of  that. 

Dick  seated  himself  upon  a  log  at  the  foot  of  a  large 
tree,  and  gave  himself  up  to  serious  meditation.  Mar- 
tin's canoe  was  nearby,  so  he  could  cross  the  river 
and  in  a  few  minutes  reach  his  own'tent.  But  he  had 
no  desire  to  sleep,  as  his  mind  was  too  active  for  that. 
He  thought  of  Nance,  her  words,  and  the  charm  of  her 
face.  But  a  cloud  arose  to  darken  the  light.  The 
miners  came  into  his  mind,  and  he  could  not  get  clear 
of  the  idea  that  something  was  to  happen,  and  that 
the  one  he  loved  was  in  real  danger.  He  felt  that 
his  duty  was  of  a  twofold  nature  now :  he  must  protect 
Nance,  and  also  help  the  men  who  would  not  help  them- 
selves. But  how  was  he  to  do  this? 

He  was  aroused  from  his  reverie  by  the  sound  of 
a  canoe  grating  upon  the  shore.  Looking  quickly  up 
he  was  able  to  discern  by  the  light  of  the  moon  two 
dark  forms  stepping  from  a  little  craft  some  distance 
below  Martin's  cabin.  That  they  were  there  for  no 
good  purpose  he  felt  quite  sure,  and  his  attention  be- 
came instantly  riveted  upon  their  movements.  He  saw 
them  leave  the  edge  of  the  water  and  glide  toward  the 
house. 

Rising  to  his  feet,  he  stood  irresolute  for  a  few  heart- 
beats, wondering  what  course  he  should  pursue.  It 
"would  not  do  for  him  to  follow  them  in  the  open,  as 


UNDER  COVER  OF  NIGHT  185 

his  form  could  easily  be  seen.  Glancing  to  the  right 
he  saw  the  forest,  sweeping  in  a  black  curve  around 
the  back  of  the  house  and  not  far  away.  "With  him.  to 
think  was  to  act,  so  moving  at  once  a  short  distance 
up  stream,  he  reached  the  border  of  the  clearing  until 
he  gained  the  shelter  of  the  sombre  trees.  Then  travel- 
ling as  rapidly  as  caution  would  permit,  he  skirted  the 
edge  of  the  forest,  keeping  well  within  the  black 
shadows. 

Reaching  at  length  a  position  just  back  of  the  cabin, 
he  peered  cautiotfsly  forth.  The  bright  light  of  the 
moon  made  every  object  visible  in  the  clearing  be- 
yond, so  that  any  one  approaching  the  house  could 
easily  be  seen,  although  his  countenance  could  not  be 
discerned.  Observing  no  one  in  sight,  he  moved  forward 
a  few  paces  and  again  stopped.  This  time  his  efforts 
were  rewarded,  for  out  in  the  open  he  saw  the  two 
men  moving  hurriedly  to  and  fro.  Several  times  they 
encircled  the  cabin.  They  seemed  to  have  no  design 
upon  the  building  itself,  but  contented  themselves  by 
keeping  a  certain  distance  away.  Dick  racked  his  brain 
in  an  effort  to  solve  the  purpose  of  their  strange  ac- 
tions. Ere  long  he  heard  the  faint  sounds  of  blows, 
and  observed  one  of  the  men  driving  something  into 
the  ground.  He  then  moved  some  distance  away,  when 
more  blows  followed.  This  was  repeated  several  times, 
and  the  concealed  watcher  closely  observed  each  spot 
where  this  process  was  performed. 

Suddenly  the  meaning  of  it  all  flashed  into  Dick's 
mind.  They  were  staking  claims  upon  the  very  ground 
where  the  cabin  was  situated.  The  thought  of  this 
cowardly  act  sent  the  blood  coursing  rapidly  through 


186  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

his  veins,  and  a  desire  came  upon  him  to  rush  forth, 
confront  them,  and  frustrate  their  evil  designs.  This, 
however,  he  realised  would  be  of  little  use.  He  well 
knew  that  Martin  had  not  staked  the  spot  upon  which 
he  was  living.  In  a  way  it  was  his  by  right  of  posses- 
sion, but  how  that  would  hold  in  mining  law  he  had 
not  the  least  idea.  He  cared  little,  anyway,  for  the 
legal  right,  as  it  was  the  sense  of  justice  which  over- 
shadowed everything  else.  Did  the  men  desire  the 
cabin?  he  wondered,  and  had  they  taken  this  under- 
handed method  of  procuring  it?  or  did  they  have  some 
other  motive  in  view  of  which  he  was  ignorant? 

Dick  watched  the  men  until  they  had  finished  their 
task,  and  made  their  way  back  to  the  river.  He  was 
tempted  to  go  over,  pull  up  the  stakes  they  had  driven 
down,  and  throw  them  away  among  the  trees.  But  this 
he  knew  would  not  do.  It  might  lead  to  complica- 
tions. He  determined,  nevertheless,  to  have  a  hand 
in  this  affair,  and  that  at  once. 

Quickly  making  his  way  back  over  the  route  he  had 
recently  travelled,  he  came  close  to  the  river.  Here 
he  remained  until  he  was  sure  that  the  two  men  had 
reached  the  opposite  shore.  He  then  walked  cautiously 
toward  Martin's  canoe,  pushed  it  off,  and  paddled  as 
silently  as  possible  across  the  stream.  It  did  not  take 
him  long  to  reach  his  own  tent,  and  when  once  inside 
he  sat  down  upon  his  bunk,  and  gave  himself  over 
to  anxious  thought.  He  longed  for  some  trusty  person 
with  whom  he  could  discuss  the  whole  affair,  and  his 
mind  turned  naturally  to  Tom,  who  was  up  at  the  new 
diggings.  At  first  he  was  inclined  to  wait  until  morning 
to  see  what  would  happen.  This  idea  he  soon  banished, 


UNDER  COVER  OF  NIGHT  187 

however,  and  he  determined  to  set  off  at  once  for  as- 
sistance. 

Silence  brooded  over  the  encampment  as  he  started 
forth  upon  his  journey.  The  numerous  tents  gleamed 
white  in  the  light  of  the  moon,  and  Dick  paused  for 
a  moment  to  gaze  upon  the  scene.  Nature  was  making 
everything  beautiful,  and  a  holy  hush  reigned  over 
mountains,  river,  and  lake.  But  what  a  change  would 
take  place  on  this  spot  in  a  few  days,  nay  even  when 
the  new  day  dawned  fresh  and  bright.  In  a  few  weeks 
Quaska  would  be  a  typical  mining  camp,  where  licen- 
tiousness would  run  riot,  unless  in  some  way  it  could 
be  checked.  He  looked  across  the  river  to  the  house 
nestling  on  the  slope  of  the  opposite  bank,  and  thought 
of  Nance  sleeping  so  peacefully,  with  no  idea  of  the 
lone  man  who  on  this  night  was  so  alert  and  watchful. 
iWith  a  wordless  prayer  that  she  might  be  kept  safe 
from  harm,  he  moved  rapidly  along  the  trail  leading 
up  stream.  He  knew  that  by  keeping  close  to  the 
river,  even  though  he  could  not  always  follow  the 
trail,  he  would  in  time  come  upon  the  miners. 

It  was  still  very  early  when  Dick  came  in  sight  of 
the  first  tents  close  to  the  bank  of  the  creek.  Soon 
others  appeared  to  view,  but  no  living  being  could  be 
seen.  Not  wishing  to  disturb  any  one,  and  not  knowing 
which  was  Tom's  cabin,  he  strolled  along  the  shore 
to  observe  how  much  work  the  men  had  been  doing. 
Coming  to  a  large  tree  he  sat  down  upon  the  ground, 
and  leaned  back  against  the  bole.  Little  did  he  know 
that  years  before,  under  that  same  fir,  Martin  and 
Nance  had  stopped  to  rest,  and  that  the  maiden  had 
played  in  the  sand  nearby.  Had  he  known  of  this, 


188  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

how  precious  would  the  spot  have  been  to  him.  He 
thought  of  Nance,  nevertheless,  as  he  reclined  there. 
In  truth  she  was  seldom  out  of  his  mind.  Presently 
he  saw  her  standing  before  him.  The  same  sweet  smile 
was  upon  her  face,  and  her  hands  were  stretched  out 
.  toward  him.  He  noted  how  small  and  brown  they 
were,  and  he  reached  out  to  take  them  in  his  own.  At 
that  instant  the  vision  faded,  and  he  opened  his  eyes 
with  a  start,  to  see  Tom  standing  before  him,  holding 
a  tin  pail  in  his  hand. 

"Sorry  I've  disturbed  ye,"  and  the  prospector 
chuckled.  "Ye  sure  looked  like  a  sleepin'  beauty." 

"Asleep,  all  right,  but  not  a  beauty,"  Dick  laughed, 
as  he  sprang  to  his  feet.  "It  was  stupid  of  me  to  go 
to  sleep." 

"Why  didn't  ye  come  to  my  shack,  pard?"  Tom 
asked,  as  he  placed  his  pail  upon  the  ground. 

"I  didn't  know  which  was  yours,  Tom,  and  I  did 
not  care  to  disturb  the  camp  hunting  around." 

"H'm!  "What  on  earth  brought  ye  out  here  at  sich 
an  unearthly  hour?  Tell  me  that." 

"Business,  Tom." 

"Must  be  mighty  special  business." 

"That's  for  you  to  judge." 

"Nothin'  wrong  down  yon  among  the  men,  I  hope?" 

"Nothing  special.  They  were  asleep  when  I  left,  or 
most  of  them,  at  any  rate." 

"It  isn't  the  lassie,  is  it?"  and  Tom  looked  keenly 
into  the  young  man's  face. 

"Yes;  it  concerns  her  and  her  father." 

Tom  at  once  picked  up  his  pail,  and  soon  returned 
with  it  full  to  the  brim. 


UNDER  COVER  OF  NIGHT  189 

"Come  with  me,  pard,"  he  quietly  remarked.  "We'd 
better  talk  it  out  under  cover." 

When  once  within  the  tent  Tom  placed  the  pail  of 
water  upon  the  ground,  and  turned  to  his  companion. 

"Sit  down,  pard,  an'  let's  have  yer  story.  Speak 
low,  as  it's  better  not  to  let  every  ninny  hear  what 
ye've  got  to  say." 

Quickly  and  briefly  Dick  related  his  experiences  dur- 
ing the  past  night,  to  all  of  which  Tom  listened  with 
much  interest.  When  the  story  was  ended  the  pros- 
pector sat  for  a  while  thinking  deeply.  He  scratched 
his  head  in  a  characteristic  manner.  At  length  he  rose, 
and  reached  for  his  frying-pan. 

"We'll  have  some  breakfast,  pard,  eh?"  he  began. 
"Ye  surely  must  need  some  grub  by  this  time.  I 
brought  down  a  fine  sheep  out  on  the  hills  yesterday, 
an'  a  nice  juicy  piece  'ill  do  ye  much  good,  I'm  thinkin', 
fer  ye  look  about  tuckered  out." 

"I've  hardly  thought  about  eating,"  Dick  replied 
with  a  laugh,  "so  worked  up  have  I  been  over  this 
affair." 

"An'  good  reason,  pard.  I'm  jist  at  a  loss  to  ex- 
press my  feelin's  at  present,  so  must  do  somethin'  with 
my  hands.  It'll  all  come  back  soon,  an'  then  I'll  tell 
ye  jist  what  I  think  about  them  skunks." 

"But  I'm  much  puzzled,"  Dick  mused. 

"Over  what,  pard?" 

"I've  been  wondering  if  we  can  do  anything.  Mar- 
tin hasn't  staked  the  claim  on  which  his  house  is  situ- 
ated, and  The  Twins  have.  Now,  legally,  to  whom  does 
that  land  belong?" 

Tom  tossed  several  pieces  of  meat  savagely  into  the 


190  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

| 
frying-pan,   and   watched   them   for   a   while   as   they 

crackled  and  sizzled. 

' ' Legally !  Legally ! "  he  roared.  ' ' "What  is  the  mean- 
in*  of  the  word?  tell  me  that.  I  don't  care  a  damn 
what  has  been  recorded  in  any  law-book,  or  what  de- 
cision wise  old  owls  of  judges  have  come  to.  Sich 
things  don't  cut  any  ice  here.  That  man  owns  the 
land  on  which  his  cabin  is  built  accordin'  to  the  law 
of  this  country.  In  a  frontier  sich  as  this  we  make 
our  own  laws,  an'  I  guess  the  one  we  make  concernin' 
this  affair  won't  be  fer  wrong.  There'll  be  no  red-tape 
about  it,  either,  mark  my  word.  Legally !  Legally ! 
h'm!"  and  Tom  gave  a  grunt  of  deep  disgust  as  he 
thrust  the  knife  under  the  meat  to  turn  it  over. 

"Good  for  you,  Tom!"  Dick  exclaimed.  "I  knew 
where  to  come  for  help,  didn't  I?  You  voice  my 
feelings  exactly.  But  we  must  not  lose  any  time.  I 
don't  want  Martin,  and  especially  Nance,  to  get  word 
of  this  matter.  It  would  worry  them,  I  believe,  very 
much." 

"Oh,  they  shan't  be  bothered  a  mite,  pard.  As  soon 
as  I  've  had  a  snack  to  eat,  I  '11  slip  out  an '  have  a  talk 
with  old  Dad,  an'  a  few  others  I  kin  trust.  It's  al- 
ways well  to  have  several  at  yer  back  in  an  affair  like 
this.  Talkin'  does  mighty  little  good  with  some  chaps 
unless  ye  have  plenty  of  power  back  of  yer  words. 
I've  found  that  out  time  an'  time  agin.  So  as  soon  as 
we're  through  with  breakfast  you  turn  in  to  yon  bunk, 
while  I  stroll  around  a  bit.  A  few  winks  won't  do 
ye  any  harm. ' ' 

When  Tom  had  left  the  cabin  Dick  stretched  him- 
self out  upon  the  one  bunk  the  place  contained.  He 


UNDER  COVER  OF  NIGHT  191 

did  not  believe  that  he  could  sleep,  but  felt  that  a 
little  rest  would  do  him  good,  and  refresh  him  for 
the  tramp  back  to  the  lake.  He  wished  to  return  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  he  hoped  that  Tom  would  go 
with  him.  He  was  anxious  about  Nance  and  Martin, 
for  he  did  not  know  what  tricks  The  Twins  might  be 
already  planning. 

Thinking  thus  he  slept,  and  when  he  opened  his  eyes 
an  hour  later  Tom  was  standing  by  his  side. 

"Feelin'  rested,  pard?"  was  the  prospector's  cheery 
greeting. 

"Yes,"  and  Dick  sprang  out  of  the  bunk  as  he  spoke. 
"I  am  surprised  at  myself,  for  I  didn't  believe  that  I 
could  sleep." 

"Ye  were  pretty  well  tuckered  out,  lad,  so  the  nap 
'ill  do  ye  a  world  of  good.  But  I  think  we'd  better  be 
away  now.  Several  of  the  boys  are  more'n  willin*  to 
go  with  us.  They're  certainly  roused  up  over  what  ye 
say  The  Twins  did  last  night." 

i  Outside  Dick  found  Dad  Seddon,  and  three  other 
men,  all  strong,  powerfully  built  fellows.  Tom  had 
made  a  wise  choice  in  asking  these  men  to  accompany 
him  down  stream.  They  were  not  given  to  many  words, 
which  was  partly  natural,  and  partly  acquired  through 
long  years  in  the  silent  wilderness.  But  they  were 
men  in  whose  eyes  lurked  not  the  slightest  semblance 
of  fear.  They  were  friends  worth  having,  but  enemies 
to  be  dreaded. 

Dick  never  forgot  that  rapid  march  down  to  the  lake. 
Very  little  was  said  as  they  strode  forward,  and  it 
was  still  early  morning  when  Klutana's  surface  at 
length  appeared  to  view.  The  miners  were  astir,  and 


192  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

the  confusion  and  bustle  of  a  new  day  had  already 
begun.  But  the  five  men  headed  by  Tom  did  not  pause 
until  they  had  reached  a  tent  of  moderate  size,  situ- 
ated on  somewhat  higher  ground.  Here  the  various 
claims  were  all  recorded,  and  the  Recorder  was  eating 
his  breakfast,  which  was  spread  out  upon  an  overturned 
empty  soap  box.  He  looked  up  with  interest  as  the 
men  appeared  before  him  at  the  entrance  of  his  tent. 

"Mornin',  Tom,"  was  his  salutation.  "Struck  some- 
thin'  good,  eh?" 

"Should  say  not,"  and  Tom  spoke  in  a  low  voice. 
"Have  ye  recorded  any  claims  this  mornin',  Bill?" 

"Sure  thing.     But  why  do  ye  ask?" 

"Was  it  The  Twins?" 

The  Recorder's  eyes  opened  wide  in  amazement,  and 
he  looked  curiously  at  the  rest  of  the  men  standing 
silently  and  grimly  outside. 

"Have  The  Twins  been  here  this  mornin'?"  Tom 
again  asked. 

' '  Yes.    They  routed  me  up  at  a  most  unearthly  hour. ' ' 

"Did  they  record  claims  over  on  yon  bank?"  and 
the  prospector  waved  his  hand  toward  the  right. 

"Yes;  over  the  Quaska.  Said  they  had  rich  ground 
there." 

"D'ye  know  the  locality?" 

"Not  exactly.  This  whole  region  is  so  new  to  me 
that  I  hardly  know  one  spot  from  another." 

"Bill,"  and  Tom's  voice  sank  to  a  deep  hoarse  whis- 
per, "I  believe  that  The  Twins  have  staked  Martin's 
place  over  the  river." 

The  Recorder  gave  vent  to  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise. He  reached  over  to  a  small  rude  shelf,  and 


UNDER  COYER  OF  NIGHT  193 

brought  forth  the  book  in  which  the  various  claims 
were  recorded.  This  he  studied  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  read  off  what  he  had  written  there  that 
morning. 

"That's  it,  an'  no  mistake!"  Tom  cried.  "The 
skunks!  D'ye  know  where  they  are  now,  Bill?" 

"They  left  here  some  time  ago,  and  seemed  to  be 
in  high  fettle.  I  didn't  savvey  their  game,  and  so 
paid  no  attention  to  their  movements." 

"Come,  boys,"  and  Tom  turned  suddenly  to  his 
companions,  "I  really  believe  that  those  devils  are  over 
the  river  now.  Let's  follow  them,  an'  see  what  tricks 
they're  up  to.  Thank  ye,  Bill,  fer  the  information. 
We'll  report  to  ye  later." 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE   WAY   OP   A   WOMAN 

DADDY,   what   do   girls  do  in  the   great    outside 
world  when  they  grow  up  ? " 

Nance  and  Martin  had  just  finished  their  breakfast. 
It  was  early,  and  the  morning  sun,  streaming  in  through 
the  window,  fell  athwart  the  table.  Pete,  the  invalid, 
was  still  asleep,  for  the  movements  in  the  room  had 
not  disturbed  him  in  the  least.  Martin  looked  curi- 
ously at  Nance  as  she  asked  the  question.  He  pushed 
back  the  bench  upon  which  he  was  sitting,  and  began 
to  fill  his  pipe.  Nance  sat  with  her  elbows  upon  the 
table,  her  hands  supporting  her  chin,  watching  him 
thoughtfully. 

"Young  women  generally  get  married,"  Martin  at 
length  replied.    "That  is  about  all  they  think  of." 
"But  suppose  they  don't  get  married,  daddy?" 
"Then  they  stay  at  home  and  help  their  mothers." 
"But  suppose  they  have  no  mothers,  what  then?" 
"Oh,  they  get  out  and  shift  for  themselves." 
"And  what  do  they  do  to  make  a  living?" 
"Some  become  servants,  others  are  clerks  in  stores, 
dressmakers,  school  teachers,  and  so  on." 
"And  some  become  nurses,  do  they  not?" 
"Certainly;  I  forgot  all  about  them." 

194 


THE  WAY  OF  A  WOMAN  195 

"Well,  that  is  what  I  want  to  be,  daddy." 

Martin  looked  up  quickly  into  the  flushed  face  of 
the  young  woman  before  him. 

"Who  put  such  a  notion  as  that  into  your  head?" 
he  quietly  remarked.  "Was  it  that  young  man?" 

"No,  not  altogether.  I  have  been  thinking  about  it 
for  some  time.  Ever  since  I  read  the  story  of  Florence 
Nightingale  in  one  of  my  books  I  have  longed  to  be  a 
nurse.  I  am  practising  every  day  upon  Pete,  and  I 
know  I  should  like  the  work  so  much.  I  want  to  be 
of  some  use  in  the  world,  daddy." 

"But  you  are  of  some  use,  little  one,  of  great  use 
to  me,  at  least.  What  would  I  do  without  you?  You 
would  go  away,  and  I  should  be  left  alone." 

"But  I  am  not  of  much  use  to  you  now,"  and  there 
was  a  note  of  sadness  in  Nance's  voice.  "You  are 
away  all  day  long  out  on  the  hills,  so  we  only  see 
each  other  morning  and  evening.  Once  we  were  to- 
gether all  the  time." 

Martin  lowered  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  his 
eyes  dropped.  He  knew  how  true  were  the  words  he 
had  just  heard,  and  his  heart  reproached  him.  Yes, 
he  had  spent  most  of  his  time  on  the  hills  since  the 
arrival  of  the  miners,  and  he  had  left  Nance  alone. 
He  had  almost  forgotten  her,  in  fact,  so  engrossed  had 
he  been  with  his  own  thoughts,  and  the  perplexing 
questions  which  were  always  disturbing  his  peace  of 
mind.  But  of  these  he  could  not  speak  to  Nance.  He 
had  to  bear  his  burden  alone,  and  not  even  to  the  one 
who  was  so  dear  to  him  could  he  confide.  He  looked 
at  her  now  longingly,  and  a  great  fear  came  over  him 
lest  in  any  way  she  should  learn  something  about  his 


196  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

past  life.  That  she  had  perfect  confidence  in  him  he 
was  well  aware.  How  terrible  it  would  be  if  she  should 
hear  what  kind  of  a  man  he  really  was. 

"Are  you  not  happy  here,  Nance?"  and  his  voice 
was  somewhat  hoarse  as  he  asked  the  question.  ' '  Would 
you  like  to  go  away?  If  so,  we  shall  start  at  once. 
There  will  yet  be  time  to  cross  the  mountains,  and 
catch  the  steamer  on  her  return  from  the  north.  Then, 
when  once  outside,  if  you  so  desire,  you  can  train  to 
be  a  nurse." 

"No,  no,  daddy,  I  don't  want  to  go  away,"  Nance 
hastened  to  reply.  "And,  besides,  there  is  no  need  of 
it,  as  I  can  be  just  as  happy  here.  Some  one  will  be 
needed  to  care  for  the  miners,  and  why  cannot  I  help  ? ' ' 

"You  are  talking  somewhat  wildly,  are  you  not?" 
Martin  replied  a  little  sharply.  "Though  you  have 
cared  for  Pete,  and  have  done  it  well,  yet  you  know 
hardly  anything  about  nursing.  A  very  thorough  train- 
ing is  necessary  to  make  one  proficient." 

"But  I  may  learn  here,  daddy.  Dick,"  and  at  the 
mention  of  the  name  the  flush  upon  her  face  became 
more  apparent — "told  me  that  he  expects  a  trained 
nurse  in  soon  on  one  of  the  steamers." 

"Did  he!  Well  that's  news  to  me.  Where  is  she 
to  stay,  pray?" 

"At  the  hospital,  which   is  to  be  built." 

"H'm.     Is  that  so?" 

"Yes.  And  Dick  told  me  something  about  the  woman 
he  expects  will  be  sent  in  to  take  charge  of  the  hos- 
pital. She  is  known  only  as  Nurse  Marion.  She  has 
been  working  along  the  Yukon  River  for  years,  and  she 
has  done  so  much  for  the  miners.  They  love  her  just 


THE  WAY  OF  A  WOMAN  197 

like  the  soldiers  loved  Florence  Nightingale.  Dick 
thinks  that  she  will  come,  for  it  is  always  she  who 
goes  into  new  places,  and  starts  the  hospital  work.  I 
do  hope  that  Nurse  Marion  will  come,  for  I  long  to  see 
her.  I  never  saw  a  white  woman,  except  my  mother, 
and  I  was  too  young  when  she  died  to  know  anything 
about  her." 

"She  was  very  beautiful,  Nance,"  Martin  replied, 
"and  you  look  just  like  her." 

"Do  I,  daddy?  I  didn't  know  that  I  am  beautiful. 
But  if  I  look  like  my  mother  used  to  then  I  must  be. 
You  have  often  told  me  about  Beryl,  how  beautiful, 
she  is,  and  I  have  often  wished  to  look  just  like  her. 
Dick  says  that  Nurse  Marion  is  beautiful,  that  she  has 
a  sweet  face,  wonderful  eyes,  and  can  sing  better  than 
any  one  he  ever  heard.  He  said  that  it  is  fine  to  hear 
her  sing  by  the  side  of  sick  people.  Her  voice  is  so 
comforting,  and  she  always  seems  to  know  exactly  how 
the  patient  feels  and  so  sings  accordingly.  Dick  said 
that  she  had  some  great  trouble  in  her  life  which  turned 
her  mind  to  nursing  that  she  might  help  others  who 
suffer.  Oh,  I  think  her  life  must  be  so  grand.  I  know 
that  I  shall  like  her,  and  I  hope  that  she  will  let  me 
help  her  in  the  hospital.  So  you  see,  daddy,  I  will 
be  of  some  use  in  the  world,  and  be  right  near  you  at 
the  same  time." 

Martin  made  no  reply  to  these  words,  for  his  mind 
was  strangely  disturbed.  The  description  Nance  had 
given  of  Nurse  Marion  made  him  think  of  Beryl.  Yes, 
she,  too,  was  beautiful,  had  a  sweet  face,  wonderful 
eyes,  a  rich  voice,  and  her  life  had  been  a  troubled  one. 
Tom  had  said  that  she  had  become  a  trained  nurse  after 


198  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

she  had  recovered  from  her  illness.  There  was  such  a 
strong  resemblance  between  Nurse  Marion  and  Beryl 
that  Martin  felt  that  they  must  be  one  and  the  same 
person.  Only  the  name  puzzled  him  somewhat.  But 
perhaps  she  had  changed  it  when  she  entered  the  nurs- 
ing profession  as  she  had  changed  the  whole  manner 
of  her  life.  And  was  it  possible  that  she  was  coming, 
the  only  woman  in  the  whole  world  whom  he  longed  to 
see,  and  yet  the  only  woman  he  dreaded  to  meet  face 
to  face?  Yes,  he  knew  something  about  those  wonder- 
ful eyes  of  which  Nance  had  spoken.  "With  what  a 
loathing  scorn  would  they  be  turned  upon  him  if  he 
should  ever  see  her  again.  But,  then,  that  must  never 
be.  If  the  nurse  proved  to  be  Beryl  she  must  not  know 
that  he  lived  at  Quaska.  A  sudden  impulse  seized  him 
to  leave  the  place,  such  as  had  come  over  him  when 
Dick  Russell  and  the  miners  had  arrived.  Then  it  was 
for  Nance's  sake  he  had  remained.  Now  this  sudden 
longing  to  flee  was  restrained  by  a  strong  desire  to 
behold  once  more  the  face  of  the  woman  who,  during 
all  the  years  of  his  voluntary  exile,  had  been  so  much 
in  his  mind.  He  wondered  if  she  had  changed  much 
since  he  last  saw  her  at  the  church  in  the  city  years 
before.  "Would  she  recognise  him  if  she  met  him  now? 
he  mused.  It  was  hardly  likely,  for  she  would  not  as- 
sociate a  rough  bearded  man  with  the  trim  Martin  Rut- 
land she  had  known  so  long  ago.  But  one  thing  was 
certain :  she  must  never  be  allowed  to  cross  the  threshold 
of  his  house.  If  she  did  come  to  Quaska,  and  Nance 
should  become  acquainted  with  her  it  was  only  natural 
that  Nance  should  wish  to  bring  her  home.  No,  such 
a  thing  must  not  happen. 


THE  WAY  OF  A  WOMAN  199 

"Nance,"  and  Martin  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  place 
where  she  had  been  sitting.  He  was-  surprised  to  find 
that  she  was  not  there. 

"What  is  it,  daddy?"  was  her  cheery  response,  as  she 
came  to  his  side.  "I  am  looking  after  Pete,  getting  his 
breakfast. ' ' 

"Why,  I  didn't  know  that  you  had  moved.  I  did 
not  hear  a  sound." 

"And  didn't  you  hear  Pete  and  me  talking?" 

"No,  not  a  word,"  at  which  remark  both  Pete  and 
Nance  laughed  heartily.  Martin  also  smiled  at  what 
he  called  his  own  foolishness. 

"Nance,  come  close,  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  he  com- 
manded. "Promise  me,"  and  here  his  voice  dropped 
to  a  whisper,  ' '  that  if  any  white  woman  comes  to  Quaska 
you  will  never  invite  her  to  this  house  without  speaking 
to  me  first." 

Seeing  the  surprised  look  upon  Nance's  face,  he 
caught  both  of  her  hands  in  his,  and  held  them  firm. 

"Promise  me,"  he  ordered. 

"I  promise,  daddy,"  was  the  somewhat  faltering 
reply. 

"There,  that  will  do,"  and  Martin  released  her 
hands.  "You  have  never  told  me  a  falsehood,  nor  dis- 
obeyed me,  so  I  know  that  I  can  trust  you." 

Nance  was  deeply  puzzled  over  Martin's  words  and 
manner.  Never  before  had  he  spoken  to  her  so  sternly 
and  mysteriously.  She  was  disappointed  as  well,  for 
she  had  been  revolving  in  her  mind  of  late  what  a 
great  pleasure  it  would  be  to  have  Nurse  Marion  come 
over  to  their  house  very  often.  They  would  be  such 
friends,  so  she  had  planned.  And  now  she  must  al- 


200  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

ways  ask  her  father's  permission,  and  even  then  he 
might  not  grant  her  request. 

A  form  bulking  large  in  the  doorway  caused  her 
to  cease  her  meditation,  and  look  keenly  at  a  thick- 
set man  standing  there.  "Without  knocking  he  entered, 
followed  by  another  man.  The  night  prowlers  had  ar- 
rived to  take  formal  possession  of  the  claims  they  had 
staked. 

Martin  rose  to  meet  them,  and  looked  inquiringly 
into  their  faces.  They  were  strangers  to  him,  and  he 
thought  that  perhaps  they  had  come  to  see  the  in- 
valid. 

"Are  you  looking  for  Pete?"  he  asked.  "He's  over 
there,"  and  he  pointed  toward  the  bunk. 

"Naw.  We 've  come  to  see  you, "  Dave  replied.  "We 
wish  to  inform  you  that  you're  settled  upon  our  claims, 
an'  we're  here  to  give  you  notice  to  quit." 

Martin  looked  first  at  the  one  and  then  at  the  other, 
uncertain  whether  they  were  in  earnest  or  only  jok- 
ing. But  the  expression  upon  their  faces,  and  the  look 
in  their  eyes  told  him  that  they  meant  business. 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  he  at  length  replied. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  'claims,'  and  'notice  to 
quit'?" 

"Ye  don't?  Well,  ye  damn  soon  will,"  was  the  gruff 
response.  "We've  staked  our  claims  upon  the  ground 
where  your  shanty  is  pitched.  The  land  is  ours,  so  you 
get  out  at  once.  See?" 

At  these  words  Martin  straightened  himself  up  with 
a  sudden  jerk. 

"Don't  you  know  that  I  own  this  place?"  he  asked. 
"I  cleared  this  land,  and  built  this  house  years  and 


THE  WAY  OF  A  WOMAN  201 

years  ago.  I  hold  it  by  possession.  Why  should  you 
wish  to  take  it  from  me?  There  is  all  the  land  on  this 
side  of  the  river  unstaked.  Can  you  not  let  me  live 
here  in  peace?  Why  do  you  need  my  small  piece  of 
ground  ? ' ' 

' '  That 's  nothin '  to  do  with  it, ' '  Sam  retorted.  ' '  We  Ve 
staked  this  spot,  an'  we  want  it,  so  that's  all  there  is 
about  it." 

"But  suppose  I  am  not  willing  to  give  it  up,  what 
then?" 

"Oh,  we'll  soon  settle  that,"  and  the  men  laughed 
as  they  clapped  their  hands  to  their  hip-pockets. 
"We've  something  here  which  speaks  pretty  loud,  an' 
to  the  point." 

"But  is  this  legal?"  Martin  insisted.  "I  have  the 
land  surely  by  possession,  so  it  is  mine  by  right  of 
ownership. ' ' 

"Might  is  right  in  this  country,"  and  Dave  spat 
contemptuously  upon  the  floor.  "That  is  the  only  law 
we  know  here,  or  pay  any  attention  to." 

"Is  that  so?" 

These  three  brief  words  caused  The  Twins  to  look 
quickly  to  the  right,  and  at  once  their  faces  underwent 
a  marvellous  change.  Nance  was  standing  there,  with 
her  lithe  figure  as  straight  as  a  reed.  She  was  looking 
quietly  along  the  barrel  of  Martin's  rifle,  and  the 
slight  forefinger  of  her  right  hand  was  gently  press- 
ing the  trigger.  The  visitors  had  paid  no  attention 
to  her  before,  so  engrossed  had  they  been  with  Mar- 
tin. But  now  they  suddenly  realised  that  here  was 
a  new  force  to  be  reckoned  with  upon  which  they 
had  not  counted.  Nance  stood  before  them  trans- 


202  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

formed.  Her  face  was  very  pale,  but  her  eyes  glowed 
with  the  light  of  determination,  which  the  two  baf- 
fled men  were  not  slow  to  notice. 

"I  will  shoot  the  first  one  of  you  that  moves  a 
hand,"  Nance  warningly  remarked. 

"Fer  God's  sake  ye  wouldn't,  Miss,"  Dave  faltered. 
"Ye  don't  mean  it,  surely?" 

"Indeed  she  does,"  Martin  replied.  "Don't  fool 
with  her  if  you  value  your  lives.  She's  a  dead  shot, 
as  many  a  grizzly  has  found  out  to  his  cost." 

In  the  silence  which  followed  these  words  it  was 
almost  possible  to  hear  the  heart-beats  of  the  two  con- 
founded men. 

"Are  you  going  to  leave  this  place?"  Nance  asked 
slowly  and  deliberately.  "Will  you  promise  never  to 
come  here  to  bother  us  again?" 

No  response  coming  to  this  request,  Nance  continued : 

"I  am  going  to  count  ten,  and  while  I  am  doing  it 
you  can  think  over  what  I  have  said.  That  is  all  the 
time  I  shall  give  you.  One — two — three — four — five — 
six — seven — eight — nine ' ' 

"Hold,  hold,  Miss,"  Sam  interrupted.  "I'll  leave. 
I'm  not  going  to  have  my  brains  blown  out." 

"So  will  I,"  Dave  assented. 

"And  you  will  never  trouble  us  again?" 

"No,  no,"  came  simultaneously  from  both  men. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  Nance  commanded.  "I  am  not 
through  with  you  yet.  Might  is  right,  so  you  say.  Just 
put  your  hands  above  your  heads.  There,  that's  bet- 
ter. Now,  daddy,  please  take  those  weapons  out  of 
their  pockets;  they  are  not  safe  things  for  such  men 
to  carry." 


THE  WAY  OF  A  WOMAN  203 

Never  before  had  The  Twins  been  in  such  a  fix.  It 
was  bad  enough  to  be  held  up,  but  to  be  held  up  by  a 
woman  was  gall  and  wormwood  to  their  reckless  na- 
tures. Yet  they  had  great  respect  for  the  blank  frown- 
ing muzzle  of  that  rifle,  and  the  determined  figure  hold- 
ing it  so  confidently  in  her  hands.  They  did  not  dare 
to  lower  their  arms,  and  they  were  forced  to  submit 
to  the  ignominy  of  having  their  revolvers  removed  from 
their  hip-pockets. 

"Nice  weapons  these,"  Martin  calmly  remarked,  as 
he  held  the  two  revolvers  in  his  hands.  "Suppose  we 
keep  them,  Nance,  as  souvenirs.  They  might  come  in 
handy  some  other  time.  And  perhaps  they'll  be  useful 
now, ' '  he  continued,  after  a  pause.  ' '  You  say  that  you 
staked  claims  here  last  night,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  was  Dave's  surly  response. 

"Well,  then,  you  can  just  go  out  and  pull  them  up. 
Nance,  keep  the  rifle  upon  them  until  they  finish  the 
job,  and  I'll  bring  these  weapons  along,  too,  in  case 
they  are  needed." 

"Yes,  daddy,"  Nance  replied.  "I  am  not  going  to 
lower  this  rifle  until  the  stakes  are  all  up,  and  these 
men  have  cleared  out." 

The  feelings  of  the  two  scoundrels  were  by  no  means 
enviable  as  they  were  ordered  out  of  the  house,  and 
then  commanded  to  undo  their  work  of  the  past  night. 
Not  only  were  their  hearts  bursting  with  rage,  but  they 
felt  very  deeply  the  humiliation  of  their  position.  To 
be  driven  by  a  woman  from  stake  to  stake  like  slaves 
before  a  taskmaster  upon  whom  they  could  not  wreak 
their  revenge  was  something  they  had  never  before 
experienced.  Then,  while  in  the  midst  of  their  work, 


204  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

the  arrival  of  Dick,  Tom,  and  the  rest  of  the  band, 
filled  their  cup  of  shame  to  overflowing. 

The  miners  took  the  whole  situation  in  at  a  glance, 
and  derisive  shouts  of  laughter  burst  from  their  lips. 

"Hard  at  it,  boys?"  Tom  shouted.  "It's  rather 
early,  isn't  it,  to  be  workin'  so  hard?" 

"When  did  ye  make  up  yer  minds  to  obey  a  woman?" 
Dad  asked.  "Ye've  changed  yer  tune  since  last  winter 
about  being  bossed  by  any  female,  ha,  ha!" 

"Got  yer  claims  all  worked?"  sneered  another.  "Yer 
pullin'  up  yer  stakes  mighty  soon.  Where's  yer  clean- 
up?" 

To  all  of  these  jibes  the  two  wretched  men  made  no 
response.  They  hurried  from  stake  to  stake,  and  when 
the  last  had  been  torn  out  and  thrown  savagely  upon 
the  ground,  they  turned  and  faced  their  fair  young 
captor. 

"Now,  will  ye  let  us  go?"  Sam  snarled.  He  longed 
to  express  his  feelings  in  more  vehement  words,  but  his 
courage  was  not  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"Yes,  you  may  go  now,"  Nance  replied,  as  she 
dropped  the  butt  of  the  rifle  upon  the  ground.  "My! 
that  tired  my  arms." 

The  Twins  were  about  to  scuttle  away,  when  Tom 
stopped  them. 

"Hold  on  a  minute,"  he  commanded.  "I  want  a 
word  with  ye.  Ye  may  consider  yerselves  mighty  lucky 
to  git  clear  of  this  job  with  whole  skins.  The  lassie 
an'  her  dad  have  been  mighty  good  to  ye.  Mebbe  it 
wouldn't  have  been  the  same  if  we'd  happened  along  a 
little  sooner.  Ye  might  as  well  know  first  as  last,  Dave 
Pelchie,  and  Sam  Purvis,  that  if  ye  interfere  with  this 


THE  WAY  OP  A  .WOMAN  205 

property  agin  ye  won't  git  off  as  easy  as  ye  have  this 
time.  So  git  out  of  this  as  quick  as  ye  kin,  fer  the 
sight  of  yer  measly  faces  makes  me  sick. '  '•" 

The  miners  watched  for  a  while  two  defeated  and 
crestfallen  men  as  they  skulked  down  to  the  river. 
Then,  with  Tom  leading,  they  all  shook  hands  with  the 
heroine  of  the  day. 

"We're  proud  of  ye,  Miss,  that's  what  we  are,"  Tom 
exclaimed. 

"Hear,  hear!"  agreed  his  companions. 

But  Dick,  as  he  took  her  hand,  held  it  a  little  longer 
than  the  rest.  Their  eyes  met,  and  though  no  word 
fell  from  their  lips,  a  language  which  the  others  could 
not  understand  passed  between  them — the  language  of 
the  heart. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

HEART   SEABCHINGS 

DAD  SEDDON  was  delighted  with  the  part  Nance 
had  taken  in  the  drama  which  had  just  been 
enacted.  His  eyes  beamed  with  admiration,  and  the 
somewhat  surly  expression  vanished  entirely  from  his 
face. 

"By  the  horns  of  a  moose!"  he  exclaimed,  turning 
toward  the  young  woman,  "I  did  feel  mighty  sore  that 
first  night  ye  beat  me  at  chess.  It  was  a  great  come- 
down, so  I  thought,  to  be  licked  by  a  woman.  But  I 
fergive  ye  now,  fer  ye've  done  a  deed  this  mornin'  which 
makes  us  all  proud  of  ye." 

"How  would  you  like  another  game?"  Nance  laugh- 
ingly replied.  "We  haven't  had  one  for  some  time." 

"What!  this  mornin'?" 

"Certainly.    Right  away." 

"It's  a  go.  I'm  there  every  time.  Bring  on  the 
weapons  of  war,  an'  we'll  have  a  royal  battle." 

Tom  and  the  rest  smiled  good  naturedly  at  the  old 
prospector's  enthusiasm.  They  stayed  for  a  while 
watching  the  two  facing  each  other  across  the  little 
deal  table.  Then,  after  a  few  words  with  Pete,  they 
swung  away  from  the  cabin  toward  the  river. 

"We've  important  business  over  yon,"  Tom  had  ex- 

206 


HEART  SEARCHINGS  207 

plained.     "We  may  be  needed  there  jist  at  present." 

All  through  the  day  Martin's  mind  was  much  con- 
cerned about  the  incident  of  the  morning.  He  tried 
to  reason  out  why  The  Twins  should  wish  to  take 
possession  of  his  property  when  there  was  so  much 
unclaimed  land  lying  all  around  on  that  side  of  the 
river.  He  thought  of  the  gold  buried  behind  the  house, 
and  wondered  if  in  any  way  the  secret  had  become 
known.  But  who  was  there  to  tell  the  white  men?  he 
asked  himself.  Nance  had  not  done  so,  he  was  quite 
sure  of  that.  Then  the  Indians  suddenly  flashed  into 
his  mind.  Perhaps  they  had  been  questioned  as  to  the 
old  diggings  up  the  Quaska.  The  natives,  no  doubt, 
well  remembered  how  he  had  dug  there  years  ago. 
He  at  once  thought  of  Taku.  This  Indian  had  been 
down  the  river  among  the  miners  at  the  time  of  the 
great  stampede,  and  he  might  have  told  them  some- 
thing. 

Acting  upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  he  seized 
his  hat  and  hurried  over  to  the  Indian  encampment, 
straight  toward  Taku's  house.  He  found  the  native 
and  his  wife  at  work  upon  the  fish  they  had  recently 
taken  from  the  lake. 

"Doing  a  good  business,  Taku,  eh?"  Martin  asked, 
sitting  down  upon  a  stone  nearby. 

"Ah,  ah,"  was  the  reply. 

"White  men  take  all  you  catch,  eh?" 

"Ah,  ah." 

"Did  the  white  men  pay  you  well  for  your  trip 
down  the  Heena  this  spring?"  Martin  further  ques- 
tioned. 

"Ah,  ah.     Good.     Tobac,  tea,  gun,  coat." 


208  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"You  were  there  when  they  got  back  from  the 
Quaska?" 

"Ah,  ah.    Beeg  tarn." 

"What  did  they  say  about  the  gold,  Taku?" 

The  native  paused  at  his  work,  and  mused  for  a 
while. 

"Talk  moche,"  he  at  length  slowly  replied.  "No 
savvey  beeg  hole." 

"What  hole?" 

"Up  Quaska." 

"They  asked  you,  did  they?    You  told  them?" 

"Ah,  ah." 

"That  I  made  the  holes?" 

"Ah,  ah." 

"And  did  you  tell  them  where  I  put  the  gold?" 

"Ah,  ah.  Me  tell  two,"  and  the  Indian  held  up  the 
fore  and  middle  fingers  of  his  left  hand. 

* '  Oh,  I  see ! ' '  Martin  responded,  more  to  himself  than 
to  the  native. 

He  now  comprehended  everything,  and  how  The 
Twins  had  learned  about  the  hidden  treasure.  But 
how  could  he  blame  Taku?  The  Indian  had  not  been 
told  to  keep  the  matter  a  secret.  In  fact,  it  had  been 
of  little  importance  to  him  then,  as  at  that  time  he 
had  no  idea  of  the  value  of  the  gold  the  white  man 
had  unearthed. 

Leaving  the  encampment,  Martin  walked  slowly  back 
to  his  own  house.  He  now  understood  the  purpose 
of  the  two  men  who  had  staked  their  claims  upon 
his  land.  It  was  the  gold  they  wanted  and  nothing 
else.  He  was  surprised,  too,  for  he  had  often  heard 
of  the  code  of  honour  among  miners  and  prospectors. 


HEART  SEARCHINGS  209 

Gold  was  seldom  meddled  with,  and  cabins  were  al- 
ways left  unlocked.  A  sneak-thief  was  looked  upon  with 
contempt,  and  considered  the  very  essence  of  abomi- 
nation. 

Martin  stayed  close  around  the  house  all  day.  He 
discussed  with  Nance  what  he  had  learned  from  Taku. 

"I  do  not  feel  safe,  little  one,"  he  said.  "Our  house 
will  be  watched  day  and  night." 

"Never  fear,  daddy,"  Nance  replied.  "Those  two 
men  will  hardly  venture  back  again.  Most  likely  when 
the  other  miners  hear  of  it  they  will  drive  them  oui 
of  the  place." 

It  was  only  when  Dick  came  over  in  the  evening 
that  they  first  learned  what  had  happened  in  the  min- 
ing town.  The  young  man  was  much  animated  this 
evening,  and  told  in  an  amusing  way  the  whole 
story. 

"Tom  is  really  a  brick,"  he  declared.  "I  knew  that 
he  was  all  gold,  as  the  miners  say,  but  it  takes  some- 
thing out  of  the  ordinary  to  stir  him  up.  Then  when 
he  is  once  aroused  it  will  be  well  for  his  opponents  to 
be  on  their  guard." 

"What  has  he  been  doing  now?"  Nance  queried,  un- 
able to  restrain  her  eagerness  to  hear  about  what  had 
taken  place  over  the  river. 

"Well,  as  soon  as  we  had  left  here  this  morning  Tom 
got  busy,  and  gathered  most  of  the  men  together,  and 
told  them  in  his  own  quaint  way  about  what  had  hap- 
pened to  The  Twins." 

"Were  they  present?"  Martin  asked. 

"Indeed  they  were  not.  They  kept  pretty  close  to 
themselves  all  through  the  day,  and  didn't  show  their 


210  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

mean  faces  in  public  once.  Tom  was  the  orator,  and 
the  impression  that  he  left  upon  his  hearers  was  won- 
derful. He  told  in  a  most  graphic  manner  how  The 
Twins  had  pulled  up  the  stakes  at  the  point  of  a  rifle, 
and  how  back  of  the  rifle  was  a  woman.  You  should 
have  heard  the  miners  laugh  and  jeer.  Some  were 
for  stringing  The  Twins  up  to  the  nearest  tree;  while 
others  wished  to  drive  them  out  of  the  place  at  once. 
But  Tom  thought  it  best  for  all  to  agree  to  ask  The 
Twins  whenever  they  met  them  about  the  claims  they 
had  staked,  and  when  they  intended  to  begin  work 
upon  them.  He  suggested  that  they  might  mention  as 
•well  about  the  beautiful  moonlight  nights,  what  shy 
creatures  women  are,  and  so  on.  He  certainly  did  set 
it  off  in  glowing  colours,  and  the  men  were  wildly  ex- 
cited over  the  idea.  They  agreed  that  it  would  be  greater 
fun  for  themselves,  and  a  severer  punishment  for  the 
two  rascals  than  driving  them  away  from  Quaska. " 

"But  will  it  be  safe,  do  you  think?"  Nance  asked. 
' '  The  Twins  might  be  so  angry  that  they  might  do  some 
harm. ' ' 

"Where  are  their  revolvers?"  and  Dick's  eyes  twin- 
kled. 

"Oh,  they  are  safe,"  Martin  laughed. 

"No;  they  won't  shoot,"  Dick  continued;  "they  are 
too  cowardly  for  that.  They  are  not  only  cowards  but 
idiots  as  well  to  do  what  they  did  last  night.  Now,  if 
some  men  had  been  in  their  place  I  doubt  whether  you 
would  have  got  off  as  easily  as  you  did.  They  would 
have  done  some  mischief.  But  The  Twins  were  too 
much  afraid  of  their  skins  after  you  got  the  rifle  lev- 
elled upon  them." 


HEART  SEARCHINGS  211 

"Where  did  they  stay  while  the  meeting  was  going 
on?"  Nance  asked. 

"In  their  own  tents.  They  must  have  known  that 
something  was  astir,  and  that  it  was  better  for  them  to 
keep  close." 

"And  they  didn't  venture  out  for  the  rest  of  the 
day?" 

"No;  stuck  close  at  home.  When  the  meeting  was 
over  several  of  the  miners  strolled  by  their  tent  and 
made  some  pretty  pointed  remarks,  which  The  Twins 
must  have  heard  and  understood.  It  is  evident  that 
they  can't  stay  hidden  all  the  time,  and  they  will  cer- 
tainly receive  a  bombardment  when  they  do  come  out." 

"Has  Tom  gone  back  up  river?"  Martin  asked. 

* '  Yes ;  on  special  business. ' ' 

' '  Special  business  ?    Of  what  nature  1 ' ' 

"It  concerns  the  building  of  a  hospital.  It  will  mean 
quite  a  cost  in  money  and  labour,  and  Tom  and  I  have 
had  several  long  serious  talks  over  it  of  late.  Be- 
fore the  miners  dispersed  this  morning  Tom  sprang  a 
surprise  upon  them  as  well  as  upon  me.  He  told  in 
a  few  plain  words  how  very  necessary  it  is  that  there 
should  be  a  hospital  built  at  Quaska  for  the  sick  and 
injured  men.  He  referred  to  what  you  have  been  doing 
over  here,  and  at  that  the  miners  gave  a  rousing  cheer. 
I  wish  you  could  have  heard  them,  it  would  have  done 
you  good.  All  agreed  that  Tom's  suggestion  was  an  ex- 
cellent one,  and  they  at  once  volunteered  to  help  with 
the  hospital  as  much  as  they  could." 

Dick  did  not  tell  Martin  and  Nance  of  the  little 
speech  he  had  made,  in  which  he  had  promised  to  give 
his  services  free,  and  how  a  nurse  was  expected  on  one 


212  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

of  the  incoming  steamers.  All  this  appealed  strongly 
to  the  miners,  and  they  had  expressed  their  approval 
in  no  uncertain  manner. 

Martin  listened  to  all  that  Dick  had  to  say  about  the 
hospital  which  was  to  be  built,  and  his  plans  for  the 
future.  He  noted  the  animated  look  upon  the  young 
man's  face,  and  the  old  longing  came  back  into  his  own 
heart  to  be  up  and  doing  at  a  similar  undertaking.  The 
missionary  had  much  to  live  for,  and  the  love  which 
he  had  for  his  work  was  great.  But  what  was  there 
for  him  to  do?  he  asked  himself.  Always  a  voice 
whispered  in  his  ear,  "Thou  shalt  not!"  There  was  a 
barrier  which  separated  him  from  that  field  of  sacred 
work  to  which  he  had  pledged  himself  years  before. 
,  As  the  days  passed  this  longing  instead  of  subsiding 
increased.  The  fire  of  anger  and  rebellion,  which  for 
years  had  burned  so  fiercely  in  Martin's  heart,  died 
down.  No  longer  did  he  look  upon  the  Church  as  hii 
great  enemy,  and  all  clergymen  as  bound  menials.  H« 
•aw  things  in  a  different  light,  and  realised  as  never 
before  that  the  beam  was  in  his  own  eyes  which  had 
distorted  his  vision.  In  the  past  he  had  the  spirit  of 
pride  and  anger  to  sustain  him.  These  were  the  crutches 
upon  which  he  had  depended.  Though  wounded,  h« 
had  held  up  his  head  and  stood  upon  his  feet.  The 
Church  then  was  the  overbearing  monster,  and  there 
was  a  certain  grim  satisfaction  in  the  thought  that 
he  had  cast  it  off  forever,  and  that  it  could  affect  him 
no  longer.  But  now  that  these  props  had  been  removed, 
upon  what  could  he  depend?  If  at  times  during  the 
past  years  of  his  exile  he  had  suffered,  it  was  as  nothing 
to  what  he  now  endured.  He  fled  to  the  hills  under  the 


HEART  SEARCHINGS  213 

pretence  of  hunting  the  mountain-sheep,  and  there  he 
wrestled  with  the  spectres  of  his  shame  and  despair, 
which  were  his  constant  companions.  At  night  he  would 
return  to  his  home,  creeping  along  the  trail  with  head 
bent,  and  face  drawn  and  haggard.  But  as  he  neared 
his  house  his  form  would  always  straighten,  his  step 
quicken,  and  his  eyes  brighten  as  Nance  came  forth  to 
greet  him.  In  her  presence  he  always  tried  to  be  cheer- 
ful. But  at  times  he  would  forget  himself,  and  while 
at  supper  he  would  slip  back  into  the  old  mood  which 
had  held  him  in  thrall  throughout  the  day.  Then  as 
he  crouched  there  with  the  wan  dejected  look  upon  his 
face  Nance  would  watch  him  with  apprehension,  and 
sometimes  would  speak  to  him,  asking  if  he  felt  ill.  This 
would  always  startle  Martin  from  his  reverie,  and  with 
an  effort  he  would  make  some  excuse  for  his  strange  be- 
haviour. Although  Nance  pretended  not  to  see  any- 
thing amiss  with  her  father,  she  was,  nevertheless,  much 
concerned.  "Why  did  he  leave  her  so  often?  she  asked 
herself,  and  why  those  strange  spells  of  absent-minded- 
ness, and  the  haggard  expression  upon  his  face  ? 

After  supper  Martin  would  sit  quietly  by  himself  lis- 
tening to  the  story  of  the  hospital,  for  Dick  came  every 
evening,  and  he  always  had  much  to  tell  about  his  work 
during  the  day.  Nance's  eyes  beamed  with  interest  as 
he  told  of  the  cutting  of  the  logs,  floating  them  down, 
the  Quaska,  and  the  struggle  they  had  in  dragging 
them  up  the  bank  to  the  right  spot  near  the  river  where 
they  were  to  erect  the  building. 

Dick  worked  as  hard,  if  not  harder,  in  fact,  than 
any  one  else.  He  not  only  chopped,  hewed,  tugged  and 
lifted  all  day,  but  he  did  all  the  planning  as  well,  be- 


214  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

sides  encouraging  his  co-workers.  The  miners  took 
turns  at  the  work,  and  every  day  there  were  several  new 
volunteers.  How  full  of  thankfulness  was  the  mission- 
ary's  heart  when  at  length  the  exterior  of  the  building 
was  almost  completed.  Of  course  there  was  much  work 
still  ahead  of  him.  There  were  the  walls  to  be  chinked 
with  moss  and  mudded ;  there  were  doors  and  windows 
to  be  made;  the  floor  to  be  built;  partitions  to  be  put 
up;  cots,  tables,  shelves,  and  other  things  to  be  con- 
structed, which  would  take  weeks  of  steady  work.  All 
this  he  expected  to  do  himself,  except  for  the  occasional 
assistance  he  was  sure  to  receive  from  Tom,  Dad,  and  a 
few  others. 

But  what  pleased  the  missionary  more  than  anything 
else  was  the  good  will  of  the  miners,  and  the  hearty 
spirit  in  which  they  assisted  him.  He  had  been  brought 
into  close  contact  with  a  number  of  them,  and  they  had 
all  voted  him  a  real  good  fellow. 

As  Dick  talked  each  night  of  the  work  done  through- 
out the  day,  and  what  he  hoped  to  do  on  the  morrow, 
Nance  would  listen  with  the  deepest  interest.  Martin 
would  sit  and  smoke  without  saying  a  word.  It  was 
impossible  for  him  not  to  like  the  young  man,  who 
was  so  thoroughly  in  love  with  his  work.  But  the 
more  Martin  heard  of  the  progress  of  the  hospital,  the 
deeper  the  iron  entered  into  his  soul.  He  did  not  ac- 
tually envy  the  missionary,  but  how  he  longed  to  be 
full  of  such  enthusiasm,  and  to  be  doing  a  work  of  a 
like  nature.  But  this  he  knew  could  never  be.  Not 
for  him  could  there  be  a  return  through  that  door 
which  had  closed  to  him  forever.  And  as  he  watched 
the  two  happy  ones  before  him  he  felt  like  a  monster 


HEART  SEARCHINGS  215 

of  deception.  He  presented  to  them  the  life  of  trust 
and  honour,  but  they  could  not  remove  the  veil  and 
behold  that  other  old  life,  which  was  ever  grinning 
horribly  upon  him,  giving  him  no  rest  day  or  night. 
How  long  could  he  keep  this  up?  he  asked  himself. 
Would  some  one  unmask  him,  or  would  he  be  forced  to 
do  it  himself,  that  he  might  find  the  peace  of  mind 
which  he  so  ardently  desired? 


CHAPTER   XXHI 

THE  MEETING 

EVERY  evening  the  missionary  brought  the  news 
over  the  river  as  to  the  progress  he  was  making 
upon  the  hospital.  One  room  he  had  reserved  for  the 
nurse  who  should  come,  so  he  said,  and  he  was  fitting 
it  up  as  comfortably  as  he  could.  This  would  be  her 
home,  and  Nance  when  alone  often  wondered  what  it 
was  like,  and  how  it  would  look  when  the  stranger 
arrived. 

"How  are  The  Twins  getting  along?"  Martin  asked, 
as  they  sat  one  evening  outside  the  door. 

"Oh,  they  left  several  days  ago,"  Dick  replied.  "Th» 
place  got  too  hot  for  them." 

"In  what  way?  Did  the  miners  threaten  them  with 
bodily  injury?" 

"No,  not  a  bit  of  it.  They  simply  carried  out  the 
suggestion  which  Tom  made  at  the  meeting.  On  all 
sides,  and  at  every  opportunity  The  Twins  were  as- 
sailed with  questions  about  the  claims  they  had  staked, 
when  they  intended  to  work  them,  and  if  they  ex- 
pected to  get  good  results.  To  these  they  would  either 
reply  with  oaths,  or  remain  silent  and  slink  away.  If 
they  happened  to  be  present  at  the  saloon,  or  where 
several  men  were  gathered,  the  conversation  was  al- 

216 


THE  MEETING  217 

ways  sure  to  drift  off  to  revolvers,  and  whether  a 
woman  could  handle  a  rifle.  Then  some  one  was  cer- 
tain to  ask  The  Twins  for  their  opinion.  I  cannot  tell 
you  exactly  how  the  whole  thing  was  managed,  but 
there  was  really  nothing  The  Twins  could  do,  though 
they  were  always  boiling  over  with  rage.  The  miners 
would  talk  of  nothing  else  while  they  were  present. 
Then  one  night  the  two  scoundrels  vanished,  where  to 
no  one  knows.  The  place  is  well  rid  of  them.  It  will 
teach  others  to  leave  you  alone  after  this." 

"I  am  so  glad,"  Nance  replied,  "but  I  cannot  help 
feeling  sorry  for  those  men.  They  did  look  so  funny, 
though,  pulling  up  the  stakes,  while  Tom  and  the  rest 
were  making  all  kinds  of  remarks. ' ' 

"You  have  been  a  heroine  among  the  miners  ever 
since,"  Dick  returned.  "There  is  nothing  that  they 
would  not  do  for  you  now.  You  are  under  their  spe- 
cial protection,  and  they  have  vowed  to  lynch  the  first 
man  who  ever  interferes  with  you  or  this  place  again." 

A  blush  suffused  Nance 's  cheeks  at  these  words,  while 
Martin  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  had  been  worried  and 
annoyed  over  the  affray,  but  now  he  felt  thankful  that 
they  were  to  be  left  undisturbed  in  the  future. 

One  morning,  just  a  week  after  this  conversation, 
Martin  and  Nance  were  aroused  by  several  raucous 
blasts  of  a  steamer.  Rushing  outside,  they  saw  the 
Northern  Light  ploughing  across  the  lake,  straight 
toward  the  new  mining  town.  Her  decks  were  black 
with  people,  and  as  the  two  watchers  hurried  to  the 
shore  they  could  see  a  number  of  women  among  the 
passengers.  There  was  considerable  excitement  on 
board,  and  much  cheering  as  well  both  on  the  steamel 


218  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

and  on  land,  where  the  miners  had  gathered  on  the 
bank.  There  was  no  wharf,  but  the  boat  curved  grace- 
fully around,  and  as  the  water  was  deep,  she  was  able 
to  swing  close  to  the  shore.  "When  tied  up,  and  the 
gang-planks  run  out  a  great  scramble  took  place,  while 
the  hum  of  voices  fell  strangely  upon  the  ears  of  the 
two  silent  ones  over  the  river.  Nance  was  all  excite- 
ment now.  Never  before  had  she  beheld  the  forms 
of  white  women  in  the  Quaska  region,  and  she  was 
most  anxious  for  a  closer  inspection. 

' '  Oh,  daddy ! ' '  she  exclaimed,  ' '  those  women  must  be 
nurses.  Dick  didn't  expect  so  many,  I  am  sure.  Isn't 
it  too  bad  that  he  is  up  at  the  diggings  with  Tom? 
Suppose  we  go  over  and  tell  them  where  he  is  ? " 

But  Martin  laid  a  heavy  hand  upon  her  shoulder, 
which  caused  her  to  look  up  into  his  face  in  surprise. 
He  surmised  only  too  well  who  the  women  were,  and 
the  object  of  their  visit  into  the  country.  But  how 
should  he  tell  Nance?  How  could  he  explain? 

"They  are  not  nurses,  little  one,"  he  at  length  an- 
swered, and  then  remained  silent,  uncertain  how  to  pro- 
ceed. 

' '  Not  nurses !  Then  who  are  they  ? ' '  and  Nance  looked 
her  astonishment. 

' '  They  are  bad  women  who  flock  into  every  camp  such 
as  this.  They  drink,  gamble,  and — lead  men  astray." 

' '  Oh !    I  thought  that  all  women  were  good,  daddy. ' ' 

"Unfortunately  not  all.  And  look,  Nance,  you  are 
not  to  have  anything  to  do  with  those  women,  see?" 

"Yes,  daddy,"  but  a  note  of  disappointment  was 
apparent  in  Nance's  voice.  "But  there  may  be  nurses 
among  them,"  and  her  face  brightened  at  the  thought. 


THE  MEETING  219 

"Not  likely.  They  would  hardly  have  time  to  get  the 
message  from  the  Northern  Packet,  and  return  on  this 
boat." 

Nance  made  no  reply  to  these  words,  but  stood  silently 

watching  the  anxious  crowd  near  the  steamer.    She  was 

,  sorely  grieved  that  she  could  not  go  over  to  the  place, 

for  she  longed  to  look  upon  the  white  women,  hear  them 

talk,  and  to  see  how   they  were  dressed. 

"When  the  nurse  comes  may  I  see  her,  and  talk  with 
her,  daddy?"  she  presently  asked. 

"Ye-s,"  was  the  somewhat  reluctant  assent.  "I  have 
no  objection  to  your  meeting  with  good  respectable 
women,  but  not  with  such  as  have  come  on  that  steamer 
to-day." 

Nothing  more  was  said  about  the  matter  then,  and 
ere  long  they  both  went  back  to  the  house.  But  Nance 
was  more  restless  than  usual.  The  outside  world  of 
which  she  had  so  often  dreamed  was  being  brought  to 
their  very  door,  and  her  blood  was  being  stirred  as 
never  before.  She  wanted  to  see,  hear,  and  learn  how 
people,  and  especially  women,  acted  who  had  lived  in 
the  great  world  of  civilisation.  She  wished  to  know 
of  things  of  which  she  had  been  ignorant  so  long. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  Nance  picked  up 
her  violin,  and  strolled  over  to  the  Indian  encamp- 
ment. She  could  express  her  feelings  better  upon  the 
violin  than  in  any  other  way,  and  Quabee  was  always 
so  pleased  to  listen  to  her.  She  found  the  Indian 
woman  near  the  shore,  and  received  a  hearty  welcome. 
Quabee  was  squatting  with  several  other  native  women 
upon  the  ground,  watching  with  much  interest  the 
steamer  lying  against  the  opposite  bank. 


220  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

' '  Come  in  canoe  on  water  ? ' '  she  asked,  as  Nance  drew 
near. 

"What,  over  there?"  and  the  latter  pointed  to  the 
farther  side  of  the  lake. 

"Ah,  ah.     Go  by  beeg  canoe,  eh?" 

Nance  was  quite  ready  for  the  trip,  as  she  would  thus 
be  able  to  go  quite  close  to  the  steamer,  and  obtain  a 
better  view  of  the  women. 

In  a  few  moments  the  canoe  was  skimming  over  the 
surface  of  the  lake,  straight  toward  the  steamer.  Nance 
as  well  as  Quabee  wielded  a  paddle,  and  a  pretty  sight 
she  presented,  seated  well  astern,  and  guiding  the  craft 
as  wilfully  as  she  pleased.  She  saw  several  women 
standing  near  the  bow  of  the  Northern  Light,  and  heard 
one  exclaim:  "Oh,  look  at  the  Indians  in  the  canoe! 
How  pretty!" 

During  the  brief  space  of  time  in  which  they  were 
passing  Nance  was  able  to  get  a  fairly  good  view  of 
the  women,  and  nothing  escaped  her  eyes.  They  were 
young,  good-looking,  and  their  shapely  figures  were 
clad  in  neatly-fitting  dresses,  such  as  she  had  never 
seen  before.  She  glanced  at  her  own  rough  clothes, 
and  for  the  first  time  realised  how  mean  and  humble 
they  were.  What  must  Dick  think  of  her?  she  mused. 
Surely  he  had  often  compared  her  poor  dresses  with 
the  handsome  ones  he  had  seen  outside.  She  was  now 
glad  that  her  father  had  not  consented  to  go  over  to 
the  steamer  that  morning.  What  would  the  women 
have  thought  of  her?  She  would  have  caused  them  no 
end  of  amusement. 

Nance  was  as  eager  to  get  away  from  the  steamer  as 
a  few  minutes  before  she  had  been  anxious  to  be  near  it. 


THE  MEETING  221 

Heading  the  canoe  diagonally  across  the  lake,  she  drove 
her  paddle  into  the  water  with  a  sudden  swish.  In 
a  short  time  she  ran  the  craft  around  a  sharp  point 
into  a  little  cove  where  the  trees  came  close  to  the 
water's  edge.  Laying  her  paddle  by  her  side  she  let 
Quabee  run  the  canoe  gently  ashore,  and  then  looked 
back  over  the  route  they  had  just  traversed.  The 
steamer  was  hidden  from  view,  and  she  breathed  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

A  new  mood  was  now  upon  her  such  as  she  had  never 
experienced  before.  She  longed  to  get  away  and  hide 
from  everybody,  except  her  father  and  the  Indians. 
She  did  not  even  wish  to  see  Dick,  for  she  could  not 
bear  for  him  to  look  upon  her  dressed  in  such  humble 
clothes.  Her  heart  beat  fast  as  she  thought  of  the 
many  times  they  had  been  together,  and  she  did  not 
know  that  she  was  dressed  differently  from  other  white 
women. 

Nance,  in  fact,  was  wrong  in  thinking  that  her  clothes 
made  her  look  ridiculous.  The  material  was  rough,  but 
the  dress  she  wore  was  neat,  and  fitted  to  perfection  her 
lithe  figure.  Had  she  only  known  that  her  simply-made 
garments  seemed  to  Dick's  eyes  most  becoming,  she 
would  not  have  felt  so  badly.  There  was  nothing  ar- 
tificial or  bizarre  about  them  such  as  he  had  often 
aeen  upon  women  of  her  age.  In  fact,  anything  that 
she  wore  would  have  appeared  appropriate  to  him, 
for  she  herself  added  the  charm  which  was  all  essen- 
tial. 

Knowing  nothing  of  this,  and  considering  herself  a 
disgraceful  and  ungainly  creature,  Nance  sat  for  some 
time  in  the  canoe  lost  in  thought.  Quabee  wondered 


222  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

at  her  unusual  silence,  and  at  length,  turning,  she 
pointed  to  the  violin. 

"Mak'  music,  eh?"  she  nodded. 

Almost  mechanically  Nance  picked  up  the  instrument, 
tuned  it,  and  began  to  play.  After  a  few  moments  the 
old-time  spirit  came  upon  her.  The  music  acted  like 
a  tonic.  The  heavy  mood  of  depression  disappeared, 
and  her  natural  buoyant  self  reasserted  itself.  Tune 
after  tune  she  played,  and  the  sweet  strains  sounded 
out  over  the  water. 

Presently  Quabee  touched  Nance  upon  the  arm,  and 
motioned  her  to  look  to  the  right.  Coming  toward  them 
was  a  canoe,  containing  a  woman,  and  a  white  woman 
at  that.  Nance  laid  her  violin  carefully  in  the  bottom 
of  the  canoe,  and  then  fixed  her  gaze  upon  the  ap- 
proaching stranger.  Her  eyes  grew  large  with  wonder 
as  the  woman  drew  near.  Never  before  had  she  beheld 
such  a  person.  This  must  be  one  of  the  women  who 
had  come  on  the  Northern  Light,  she  thought.  And 
yet  she  did  not  look  bad.  Surely  her  father  must  have 
been  somewhat  mistaken.  That  face  with  the  large, 
expressive,  pathetic  eyes  and  sweet  mouth  could  have 
no  connection  with  evil.  She  noted  the  noble  poise 
of  her  head,  the  erectness  of  her  body,  and  the  skilful 
manner  in  which  she  handled  the  craft.  A  sunny  smile 
illumined  the  stranger's  face,  as  she  drew  in  the  paddle 
and  laid  it  across  the  canoe. 

"Pardon  me,"  she  began,  noting  the  looks  of  astonish- 
ment upon  the  faces  of  the  two  women  before  her.  "I 
heard  the  music  floating  across  the  water,  and  thought 
that  there  must  be  fairies  hidden  in  this  cove,  and  now 
I  have  found  that  I  was  right." 


THE  MEETING  223 

Then  an  expression  of  sadness  came  into  her  eyes  as 
she  looked  keenly  upon  Nance.  She  believed  that  this 
was  one  of  the  women  who  had  come  in  on  the  Northern 
Light. 

"I  didn't  hear  you  playing  on  the  steamer,"  she 
continued  after  a  brief  pause.  "Where  did  you  keep 
yourself  and  your  violin  hidden  all  the  way  up  the 
river?" 

Then  Nance  knew  that  this  stranger  had  mistaken  her 
for  one  of  the  bad  women  of  whom  her  father  had 
spoken.  At  once  her  face  flushed  with  resentment.  No 
doubt  this  is  one  of  them,  she  considered,  and  so  she 
must  not  speak  to  her.  She  turned  away  her  eyes  and 
spoke  to  Quabee  in  the  Indian  tongue.  The  latter  roused 
herself,  seized  her  paddle  and  dipped  it  into  the  water. 
The  stranger  saw  that  in  some  way  she  had  offended 
the  young  white  woman,  and  she  hastened  to  rectify 
her  mistake. 

"Forgive  me!"  she  cried.  "I  am  afraid  that  I  have 
made  a  foolish  blunder.  Let  us  introduce  ourselves,  and 
then  perhaps  we  shall  be  able  to  understand  each  other 
better.  I  am  Nurse  Marion,  and  have  come  to  this 
place  to  take  charge  of  the  new  hospital.  But  the  lake 
is  so  calm  this  afternoon  that  I  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  of  a  ride  over  its  glassy  surface  in  this 
canoe  which  I  borrowed  from  an  Indian." 

Nance's  face  cleared  instantly,  and  a  sigh  of  relief 
escaped  her  lips.  "Then  you  are  not  one  of  those 
women  over  there?"  and  she  motioned  toward  the 
steamer. 

"No,  no!"  was  the  emphatic  reply. 

"And  neither  am  I.    This  is  my  home,  and  my  name 


224  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

is  Nance.  This  is  Quabee,  my  Indian  friend  from  child- 
hood." 

"And  have  you  really  lived  in  this  country  all  your 
life!"  the  stranger  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  ever  since  I  was  a  little  child.  I  live  over 
there  with  my  father,"  and  she  pointed  to  the  right. 
"You  cannot  see  the  house  as  that  point  hides  it  from 
view." 

Nurse  Marion  was  not  slow  in  noting  the  correct- 
ness of  Nance's  speech,  the  beauty  of  her  face,  as  well 
as  her  quiet  dignity  and  natural  refinement  of  man- 
ner. She  was  much  impressed,  and  longed  to  know 
more  about  her. 

"Is  your  mother  living  here,  too?"  she  asked.  "I 
should  like  to  meet  her.  I  am  so  pleased  that  I  shall 
have  such  nice  neighbours." 

"My  father  and  mother  are  both  dead,"  Nance  re- 
plied. "They  were  drowned  when  I  was  very  little." 

"  Oh !    But  you  said  that  you  lived  with  your  father. ' ' 

"He  is  not  my  real  father,  though  he  has  been  one 
to  me  all  my  life,  and  I  have  known  no  other.  He  took 
me  from  the  Indians  after  my  parents  were  drowned, 
and  we  have  lived  here  ever  since." 

"And  how  did  you  learn  to  play  the  violin  so  well?" 

"My  father  taught  me.  He  plays  much  better  than 
I  do.  If  you  once  heard  him  you  would  not  wish  to 
listen  to  me." 

"I  should  certainly  like  to  hear  him,"  the  nurse  re- 
turned, "and  I  hope  to  do  so  shortly,  that  is,  if  I  may 
visit  your  home  sometime.  But  how  lonely  you  must 
have  been  in  this  country  before  the  miners  arrived." 

"Why  no,  I  didn't  mind  it  one  bit.     The  Indians 


THE  MEETING  225 

liave  always  been  very  good  friends  to  us,  and  Quabee 
here  is  almost  like  a  mother  to  me.  Then,  there  are 
so  many  beautiful  things  everywhere,  the  trees,  birds, 
flowers,  mountains,  and  this  lake.  I  love  them  all. ' ' 

"But  didn't  you  get  lonely  during  the  long  winters, 
especially  in  the  evenings?" 

"Not  at  all.  We  had  our  violins,  and  it  was  so  nice 
to  sit  and  play  before  the  bright  open  fire.  We  had 
our  books,  too,  and  often  a  game  of  chess." 

"Books!"  the  nurse  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "Do  you 
mean  that  you  read  them  yourself?" 

"Certainly,"  and  Nance  laughed  at  the  other's  as- 
tonishment. 

"But  how  did  you  learn  to  read?" 

"My  father  taught  me,  as  he  taught  me  everything 
else." 

' '  He  must  be  a  remarkable  man,  and  I  should  like  to 
meet  him." 

"Indeed  he  is,  and  he  has  always  been  so  good  to  me." 

"You  haven't  told  me  his  name  yet,  have  you?" 

"It  is  Martin." 

"Martin  what?" 

"Rutland— Martin  Rutland." 

At  these  words  Nurse  Marion  gave  a  slight  start,  but 
recovered  herself  immediately.  Her  cheeks,  flushed  by 
the  exercise  of  paddling,  became  very  white,  while  her 
eyes  looked  straight  before  her  among  the  trees  on  the 
shore.  That  name  brought  back  memories  which  she 
believed  had  long  since  been  buried.  Her  brain  throbbed 
as  she  endeavoured  to  piece  together  the  things  she 
had  just  heard.  But  for  the  name  it  would  all  have 
passed  as  a  matter  of  general  interest  only.  Now, 


226  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

however,  it  was  different.  She  pictured  to  herself  Mar- 
tin Rutland  as  she  had  known  him  years  ago.  The  last 
time  they  had  been  together  he  had  played  for  her 
upon  his  violin.  Then  came  the  terrible  blow,  and  she 
had  not  heard  one  word  from  him  since.  Could  it  be 
possible,  she  asked  herself,  that  this  was  he?  Had  he 
fled  away  into  the  wilderness,  and  lived  ever  since 
among  the  Indians,  caring  for  this  orphan  girl?  She 
longed  to  ask  more  questions,  but  could  not  trust  her- 
self to  do  so  just  now.  But  she  was  determined  to 
find  out  the  whole  truth,  and  Nance  was  the  one  who 
could  help  her.  And  suppose  it  really  was  Martin! 
Her  heart  beat  wildly  as  she  thought  of  it,  and  a  sud- 
den weakness  came  upon  her.  Had  the  people  at  the 
mission  station  down  river  been  able  at  this  moment 
to  look  upon  Nurse  Marion,  who  always  was  so  calm  and 
self-possessed,  they  would  have  been  greatly  surprised. 
But  Nance  and  Quabee  saw  nothing  unusual,  so  de- 
lighted were  they  in  having  this  wonderful  white  woman 
near  them. 

"Would  you  like  to  come  with  me  to  the  hospital?" 
the  nurse  at  length  asked. 

"Oh,  may  I?"  Nance  replied.    "It  would  be  so  nice." 

"We  will  go  at  once,  then.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
to  help  me  to  fix  up  my  room." 

The  look  in  Nance 's  eyes  told  their  own  story  of  joy, 
as  she  dropped  her  paddle  into  the  water,  swung  the 
canoe  about,  and  headed  it  for  the  opposite  shore. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

WITHIN   THE  LITTLE   ROOM 

NANCE'S  eyes  were  big  with  wonder  as  she  walked 
by  Nurse  Marion's  side  from  the  shore  of  the 
lake  up  to  the  hospital.  They  did  not  go  by  way  of 
the  river,  but  landed  near  the  steamer,  and  thus  passed 
through  the  busiest  part  of  the  town.  Quabee  kept 
close  behind  Nance,  and  seemed  to  pay  no  attention  to 
the  curious  glances  which  were  cast  upon  her. 

Never  before  had  Nance  been  brought  into  contact 
with  so  many  people.  When  the  stampede  had  taken 
place,  and  the  prospectors  and  miners  passed  into  the 
Quaska  region,  she  had  been  astonished  at  the  number 
of  men  she  saw.  But  this  crowd  around  her  now  was 
most  bewildering.  The  natural  timidity  which  she  pos- 
sessed with  the  creatures  of  the  wild  came  upon  her. 
She  moved  closer  to  the  nurse,  and  the  latter,  noting 
that  she  was  trembling  with  apprehension,  placed  her 
right  arm  caressingly  around  her. 

' '  There  is  nothing  to  fear,  Nance, ' '  she  soothed,  speak- 
ing the  maiden's  name  for  the  first  time.  "The  men 
know  who  I  am,  and,  see,  some  of  them  are  lifting  their 
hats.  Though  they  are  rough  at  times  outwardly,  thej 
always  respect  a  nurse  from  our  mission." 

And  not  only  did  some  of  the  men  know  Nurse 

227 


228  IP  ANY  MAN  SIN 

Marion,  but  those  who  had  come  on  the  first  steamer 
recognised  Nance.  They  knew  that  it  was  the  first 
time  she  had  been  over  to  the  town,  and  they  now 
showed  their  appreciation  of  her  courage  in  defeating 
The  Twins  by  lifting  their  hats  to  her  as  well  as  to 
the  nurse.  They  were  not  slow  to  see  the  difference 
between  the  women  who  had  entered  the  country  merely 
for  evil  gain,  and  the  one  who  had  come  to  care  for 
the  miners.  For  the  former  they  had  uncouth  re- 
marks and  jests,  but  for  the  latter  only  the  highest 
regard. 

Nance  was  greatly  relieved  when  at  last  the  hospital 
was  reached.  The  large  room,  which  was  to  be  used  for 
patients,  was  all  finished  except  the  fitting  up  of  the 
cots.  The  place  was  fresh  and  new,  just  as  the  work- 
men had  left  it.  Everything  was  rough,  from  the  walls 
and  the  roof  to  the  floor  of  whip-sawn  planks,  and 
the  rude  standees  where  the  patients  would  be  placed. 
Several  large  well-filled  canvas  sacks  were  lying  upon 
the  floor,  which  Nance  eyed  curiously. 

"They  are  all  filled  with  bedding,  and  things  to 
brighten  up  the  room,"  the  nurse  explained.  "We  had 
to  work  almost  night  and  day  to  get  things  ready  to 
catch  the  Northern  Light.  We  had  such  a  short  time 
in  which  to  do  it  after  we  received  Mr.  Russell's  letter 
calling  for  a  nurse." 

"It  is  too  bad  that  Dick  isn't  here  now,"  Nance 
replied.  "He  didn't  know  that  you  were  coming 
to-day,  or  I  am  sure  he  would  not  have  gone  up 
river." 

"Who  is  Dick?"  the  nurse  asked.  "I  never  heard  of 
him  before." 


WITHIN  THE  LITTLE  BOOM  22* 

""Why,  the  missionary,  of  course.  The  men  all  call 
him  Dick  here,  and  he  told  me  to  do  the  same. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  see,"  Nurse  Marion  mused.  She  nevertheless 
looked  keenly  into  the  face  of  the  young  woman  before 
her,  but  she  saw  only  the  perfect  innocence  of  a  child 
in  her  clear  blue  eyes. 

After  a  while  they  passed  into  the  room  where  the 
nurse  was  to  live.  This  was  a  bright  cosy  place,  and 
Nance  was  delighted  as  she  looked  eagerly  around. 

"And  this  will  be  your  home!"  she  exclaimed.  "How 
nice  it  will  be ! " 

"Yes,  when  it  is  fitted  up,"  was  the  reply.  "You  will 
help  me,  will  you  not?  I  have  unpacked  some  of  ray 
things,  but  there  is  much  to  do  yet." 

Nance  was  greatly  pleased  to  be  of  any  assistance, 
so,  directed  by  the  nurse,  she  at  once  set  to  work,  while 
Quabee,  squatted  upon  the  floor,  watched  with  great 
interest  all  that  was  going  on  around  her. 

Nurse  Marion  was  pleased  and  also  surprised  as  she 
observed  the  deft  way  in  which  Nance  busied  herself 
about  the  room.  She  did  everything  so  quietly,  and 
yet  speedily.  At  times  the  nurse  found  herself  neg- 
lecting her  own  work  and  watching  the  movements  of 
the  girl  in  whom  she  was  becoming  so  much  interested. 
Where  did  she  learn  all  these  things?  she  asked  her- 
self. Her  foster-father  must  surely  be  a  most  remark- 
able man.  She  thought,  too,  of  his  name,  and  won- 
dered how  she  was  going  to  find  out  more  about  him, 
and  whether  he  was  the  same  man  she  had  known 
years  before. 

An  idea  came  suddenly  into  her  mind  as  she  knelfc 
by  the  side  of  a  small  bag  she  was  unpacking.  Sh« 


J230  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

hesitated  at  first,  but  at  length  she  drew  forth  a  pack- 
age, carefully  tied  with  a  faded  blue  ribbon.  She  held 
it  in  her  hand  for  a  while  before  opening  it.  How 
well  she  remembered  the  sad  day  after  her  illness  when, 
with  trembling  hands,  she  had  tied  up  that  little  pack- 
age. She  had  never  opened  it  since,  although  she  had 
carried  it  with  her  wherever  she  went.  Slowly  now 
her  fingers  loosened  the  knotted  ribbon,  and  smoothed 
out  the  paper  wrapping.  Nance  saw  what  she  was  doing, 
and  with  the  impetuosity  of  a  child  knelt  by  her  side. 

' '  What  are  they  ? ' '  she  asked,  observing  several  pieces 
of  cardboard. 

Nurse  Marion  lifted  up  the  one  on  top,  and  turned  it 
over. 

"Why,  it's  the  picture  of  a  man !"  Nance  cried.  "He 
is  young,  too,  and  so  good  looking.  Doesn't  he  wear  a 
funny  collar?  Is  he  your  brother?" 

"No,  no,  not  my  brother,  Nance.  He  is  some  one  I 
knew  long  ago,  but  I  haven 't  seen  him  for  years. ' ' 

She  then  picked  up  another  photograph,  showing  the 
same  young  man  clad  in  his  robes  of  office.  It  was  a 
good  likeness,  and  the  nurse  caught  her  breath  as  she 
looked  upon  it.  How  often  in  the  happy  days  of  old 
she  had  held  that  picture  before  her  and  studied  the 
fine  face,  the  clear  eyes,  and  the  dark  hair  brushed  back 
carelessly  from  the  brow.  How  full  was  her  young  life 
then,  he  was  her  hero,  and  the  future  was  very  bright. 

"What  a  funny  dress!"  Nance  exclaimed.  "I  never 
knew  that  men  wore  such  things." 

"He  was  a  clergyman  when  I  knew  him,"  the  nurse 
replied,  "and  during  service  he  always  wore  his  robes, 
which  you  see  here." 


WITHIN  THE  LITTLE  ROOM  231 

"Do  all  wear  them?" 

"No,  not  all." 

"Does  Dick?" 

' '  Yes,  I  suppose  so  when  he  holds  service.  All  the 
clergymen  of  the  Church  to  which  I  belong  do." 

Nurse  Marion's  little  ruse  had  failed.  She  thought 
that  perhaps  Nance  might  recognise  the  photographs  of 
her  foster-father.  But  not  a  sign  of  recognition  did 
she  give,  so  the  nurse  slowly  and  thoughtfully  folded 
up  the  pictures,  tied  once  more  the  ribbon  around 
them,  and  placed  them  back  in  the  bag. 

In  her  own  mind  Nurse  Marion  held  one  clear  vision 
of  the  Martin  Rutland  she  had  known.  To  her  he  had 
not  changed  in  the  least,  and  she  could  not  dream  of 
him  as  a  long-bearded  man,  hair  streaked  with  grey,  and 
hands  rough  and  toil-worn.  When,  therefore,  Nance  did 
not  recognise  him  in  the  photographs  the  nurse  began 
to  think  that  he  could  not  be  the  same  man  to  whom 
she  had  once  given  her  heart  and  hand.  And  yet  she 
was  not  satisfied.  The  idea  which  had  taken  possession 
of  her  haunted  her  still,  and  while  her  hands  were 
busy  her  mind  kept  constantly  dwelling  upon  the  name. 
The  sight  of  the  photographs  had  brought  back  memo- 
ries which  she  could  not  stifle,  try  as  she  might.  She 
talked  with  Nance,  and  seemed  to  be  in  the  gayest  of 
moods  as  they  fitted  up  the  room,  using  every  effort  to 
overcome  its  bareness  with  the  few  meagre  things  she 
had  brought  with  her.  When  they  were  at  last  through 
they  both  sat  down  upon  the  little  cot,  which  was  to 
be  the  nurse's  bed. 

"This  certainly  does  look  more  homelike  now,"  the 
nurse  declared,  looking  approvingly  around  the  room. 


232  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"You  have  been  such  a  help  to  me,  as  well  as  com- 
pany. I  do  not  like  to  work  alone." 

"It  is  so  nice  here,"  Nance  replied.  "May  I  come 
often?  You  do  not  know  what  it  means  to  have  a 
white  woman  to  talk  to." 

"But  it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  learned  many 
things  here  in  the  wilderness,  Nance.  Unless  you  had 
told  me  I  could  not  believe  that  you  had  never  been  with 
a  white  woman  before.  I  suppose  it  was  your  father 
who  taught  you  so  much." 

"Yes,  daddy  has  been  so  good,  and  he  knows  most 
everything.  Besides,  I  learned  so  much  from  the  books 
I  read,  and  how  white  women  lived  and  talked.  But 
there  is  one  person  who  has  been  of  such  great  help 
to  me." 

"What,  some  one  living  here?"  the  nurse  asked. 

"Oh,  no.  I  have  never  seen  her,  but  I  have  heard 
much  about  her." 

"From  whom?" 

"From  daddy.  When  I  was  quite  young  he  told  me 
many  things  about  her,  and  I  have  always  kept  her  in 
my  mind,  and  tried  to  be  just  like  her." 

"Indeed!  Tell  me  more,  please,"  and  the  nurse  set- 
tled herself  in  a  more  comfortable  position. 

"Well,  when  I  was  very  small  daddy  used  to  tell  me 
fairy  tales,  which  were  so  interesting.  The  one  I  liked 
best  of  all  was  about  the  man  who  had  a  beautiful 
garden.  There  were  all  kinds  of  flowers,  and  he  had  to 
care  for  them.  Then  one  day  he  hurt  one  of  the  flow- 
ers, and  he  was  not  allowed  to  look  after  the  garden 
any  longer.  He  went  away  and  wandered  about  from 
place  to  place  for  years.  At  last  he  went  into  the 


WITHIN  THE  LITTLE  ROOM  233' 

wilderness,  and  there  he  found  a  little  flower,  which 
he  took  with  him,  and  they  lived  together  for  a  long 
time.  The  name  of  that  little  flower  was  Heart's  Ease. 
Don't  you  think  it  is  a  pretty  story?" 

"And  was  Heart's  Ease  the  name  of  the  woman  you 
had  in  your  mind  all  of  these  years?"  and  the  nurse 
looked  questioningly  into  the  face  of  the  young  story 
teller. 

"Oh,  no.  There  was  another.  Daddy  told  me  about 
one  of  the  flowers  in  the  garden  which  felt  so  badly  at 
what  the  gardener  did.  He  said  it  was  the  most  beauti- 
ful flower  of  all.  Then  when  I  got  older  he  told  me 
that  this  flower  was  a  woman,  very  lovely,  with  wonder- 
ful eyes,  and  that  she  could  sing  so  beautifully. ' ' 

"Oh!"  This  involuntary  exclamation  came  from 
Nurse  Marion's  lips  as  she  sat  erect  upon  the  cot.  Her 
form  trembled,  and  her  face  was  white.  She  now  began 
to  read  this  story  in  its  true  light,  and  what  was  merely 
a  fairy  tale  to  Nance,  to  her  was  terribly  real. 

"Yes,"  Nance  continued,  "the  flower  was  a  woman, 
and  daddy  told  me  so  much  about  her  that  I  wanted  to 
be  like  her.  I  would  sit  hour  after  hour  thinking  about 
her,  and  wondering  how  she  looked  and  talked.  She 
seemed  very  real  to  me.  Isn't  it  funny,"  and  Nance 
turned  toward  the  nurse,  "that  when  I  look  at  you  and 
listen  to  you  I  imagine  that  you  are  my  Beryl?" 

"Beryl!"  The  word  came  from  the  nurse's  lips  like 
a  startled  cry.  She  grasped  Nance's  arm,  and  looked 
into  her  eyes.  "Did  you  say  the  woman's  name  was 
Beryl?" 

"Yes,  that  was  her  name.  But  are  you  sick?"  she 
asked,  noting  the  other 's  white  face  and  excited  manner. 


234  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"No,  no,  I  am  all  right  now,'*  and  the  nurse  gave 
a  little  hollow  laugh.  "I  was  so  much  interested  in 
your  story  that  I  forgot  myself  for  the  moment." 

All  doubt  was  now  removed  from  Nurse  Marion's 
mind  as  to  the  identity  of  Nance's  foster-father.  It 
could  be  no  one  else,  she  felt  sure  of  that.  She  rose 
to  her  feet  and  looked  out  of  the  little  window  at  the 
east  side  of  the  house,  but  saw  nothing  beyond.  Her 
brain  was  throbbing,  and  her  hands  were  firmly 
clenched.  What  was  she  to  do?  she  asked  herself. 
Would  it  be  possible  for  her  to  remain  in  this  place,  so 
near  to  the  man,  the  history  of  whose  life  she  so  well 
knew,  and  who  had  almost  broken  her  heart?  Would 
it  not  be  better  for  her  to  go  back  on  the  Northern 
Light,  and  send  some  one  else  in  her  place?  But  how 
could  she  explain  such  a  move  on  her  part  to  the  people 
at  the  mission  station  down  river?  Would  it  not  ap- 
pear cowardly  as  well?  No,  she  must  stay  and  face 
whatever  might  come. 

This  decision  once  reached  a  sense  of  peace  stole 
into  her  heart.  Strive  as  she  might  she  could  not  banish 
the  desire  to  see  Martin  Rutland  once  more.  But  she 
did  not  wish  to  see  him  face  to  face  and  thus  have 
him  recognise  her.  No,  that  would  never  do,  the  gulf 
was  too  deep  and  wide  between  them  ever  to  be  bridged 
again.  If  she  could  see  him  and  not  be  known  herself 
that  would  be  a  degree  of  satisfaction.  She  longed  to 
know  if  he  had  changed  much,  and  how  the  years  of  his 
remorse  had  dealt  with  him. 

An  exclamation  of  surprise  startled  her  and  caused 
her  to  turn  quickly  around.  There  in  the  doorway 
stood  the  missionary  with  an  expression  of  intense 


WITHIN  THE  LITTLE  ROOM  235 

wonder  stamped  upon  his  face.  His  eyes  swept  the 
room  in  one  swift  comprehensive  glance,  resting  upon 
Quabee,  Nance,  and,  last  of  all,  the  woman  standing  be- 
fore the  window. 

"Why,  Nurse  Marion,"  he  began,  as  soon  as  he  had 
somewhat  recovered  from  his  astonishment,  "I  had  no 
idea  that  you  were  here.  It  is  too  bad  that  I  happened 
to  be  away  when  the  steamer  arrived.  I  am  so  sorry 
that  I  was  not  on  hand  to  welcome  you.  But  if  it  is 
not  too  late,  allow  me  to  do  so  now, ' '  and  stepping  across 
the  room  he  held  out  his  hand. 

' '  Oh,  don 't  worry,  Mr.  Russell, ' '  the  nurse  laughingly 
replied.  "I  have  been  well  looked  after,  and  have  been 
having  such  an  interesting  time." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  and  Dick  turned  and  looked 
fondly  upon  Nance,  whose  face  was  now  beaming  with 
joy.  "I  might  have  known  that  everything  would  be 
all  right." 

Nurse  Marion  saw  the  look  of  complete  understanding 
which  passed  between  the  two,  and  she  needed  no  words 
to  explain  its  significance. 

"You  have  made  a  very  cosy  room  for  me  here,  Mr. 
Russell,"  she  remarked,  "and  I  wish  to  thank  you  for 
what  you  have  done.  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  be  com- 
fortable." 

"It  is  not  so  bad,  considering  what  has  been  done," 
and  Dick  glanced  approvingly  around.  "My,  I  am  glad 
that  you  are  here.  A  poor  chap  got  badly  hurt  out  at 
the  diggings,  and  several  miners  are  bringing  him  in 
over  the  trail.  I  hurried  on  ahead  to  see  if  I  couldn't 
fit  up  a  place  in  here  to  keep  him. ' ' 

Nurse  Marion  was  all  alert  now.    "We  can  fix  up  a 


236  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

cot  at  once,"  she  replied.  "If  you  will  open  the  bales, 
Nance  will  help  me  to  get  ready,  won't  you?"  and  she 
turned  to  the  interested  girl  at  her  side. 

"Oh,  may  I?"  Nance  responded,  eager  to  be  of  any 
service  to  this  woman,  who  seemed  such  a  wonderful  per- 
son in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

THE  RIVER  FLOWS  BETWEBH" 

WHERE  have  you  been,  Nance?  I  was  getting  un- 
easy about  you." 

Martin  was  standing  in  the  door  as  Nance  approached. 
He  noted  the  expression  of  happiness  upon  her  face  and 
the  buoyancy  of  her  step. 

"Oh,  daddy,  I  have  had  such  a  great  time!"  was  th« 
reply.  ' '  I  have  been  over  to  the  hospital. ' ' 

"To  the  hospital!  What  in  the  world  took  you 
there?" 

"It  was  Nurse  Marion.  I  have  met  her,  and  she  is 
wonderful. ' ' 

At  these  words  Martin  started,  and  glanced  across  the 
river  to  the  log  building  perched  upon  the  opposite 
bank.  He  then  turned  to  Nance. 

' '  Come,  little  one ;  supper  is  ready.  I  hare  been  wait- 
ing for  you  for  some  time." 

Nance  was  too  greatly  excited  to  eat  much.  Seldom 
had  Martin  seen  her  so  animated,  as  she  described  ia 
detail  her  afternoon's  experience. 

' '  I  wish  you  could  see  her,  daddy, ' '  and  Nance 's  eyes 
•parkled  with  enthusiasm  as  she  turned  them  upon  Mar- 
tin's face.  "You  really  must.  Won't  you  take  me 

237 


238  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

over  this  evening?  I  know  she  would  like  to  see  you. 
She  asked  me  many  things  about  you." 

"She  did?"  Martin  questioned  with  averted  face. 

"Yes,  several  times,  and  I  told  her  how  you  taught 
me  to  play  the  violin,  to  read,  and,  in  fact,  all  I  know 
is  due  to  you.  She  was  greatly  interested,  and  said 
that  you  must  be  a  wonderful  man." 

"Did  she  ask  you  what  my  name  was?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  told  her,  too,  that  you  were  not  my  real 
father,  but  that  you  had  brought  me  here  when  I  was 
a  very  little  child." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

' '  She  seemed  surprised,  and  asked  if  I  didn  't  find  the 
life  here  very  lonely." 

"Go  on,"  was  Martin's  only  comment  as  Nance 
paused. 

"It  was  so  nice  in  her  room,  and  she  let  me  help  her 
fix  it  up.  Daddy,  I  wonder  if  all  white  women — I  mean 
good  ones — are  like  Nurse  Marion." 

"Why  do  you  ask,  Nance?" 

"I  hardly  know  how  to  explain,"  the  girl  replied, 
looking  thoughtfully  before  her.  "Nurse  Marion  is 
very  beautiful,  but  there  is  something  about  her  I  can- 
not understand.  Her  eyes  are  wonderful.  They  seem 
to  be  always  seeing  things  far  away.  Even  when  she 
was  smiling  there  was  a  sad  expression  in  her  eyes. 
Do  you  know,  daddy,  I  believe  that  she  has  had  some 
great  trouble  in  her  life." 

"What  makes  you  think  so,  Nance?" 

"It  was  the  way  she  stood  at  times,  and  looked  just 
at  nothing.  She  wondered  how  I  knew  so  many  things, 
having  lived  all  my  life  in  the  wilderness.  I  told  her 


THE  EIVER  FLOWS  BETWEEN  239 

that  you  taught  me,  and  that  I  got  help  from  the  books 
I  read.  I  told  her,  too,  about  Beryl,  and " 

' '  You  did ! "  Martin  exclaimed.    ' '  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"She  listened  until  I  was  through,  and  then  she  went 
and  looked  out  of  the  window  for  some  time." 

"Oh!" 

"Yes,  it  seemed  to  make  her  sad.  But  that  wasn't  all. 
When  we  were  unpacking  her  things  she  came  to  a  small 
package,  wrapped  in  paper,  and  tied  with  a  piece  of 
faded  blue  ribbon.  She  opened  it  and  showed  me  two 
pictures  of  a  clergyman,  so  she  said." 

"What!    But  go  on,  Nance.    Don't  stop." 

"In  one  picture  the  man  was  dressed  in  a  funny 
way,  'in  his  robes  of  office,'  so  Nurse  Marion  said.  I 
thought  he  must  be  her  brother,  but  she  told  me  that 
he  was  a  man  she  knew  years  ago.  He  was  young,  fine- 
looking,  and " 

"You  wash  up  the  dishes,  Nance,"  Martin  inter- 
rupted. "I  am  going  outside  for  a  while." 

With  that  he  strode  to  the  door,  leaving  Nance  sit- 
ting at  the  table,  thinking  over  what  she  had  seen  and 
heard,  and  dreaming  of  the  time  when  she  would  be  a 
nurse  like  the  woman  over  the  river.  She  noticed  noth- 
ing strange  about  her  father's  sudden  departure.  If 
she  had  thought  of  it  at  all  she  would  have  attributed 
it  to  a  lack  of  interest  in  what  she  had  been  talking 
about. 

She  had  barely  got  the  dishes  washed  and  put  away, 
when  Martin  returned,  bringing  with  him  Tom  and  Dad 
Seddon.  Hearty  were  the  greetings  which  fell  from 
the  lips  of  the  two  prospectors  when  their  eyes  rested 
upon  Nance. 


240  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

' '  We  couldn  't  stay  away  any  longer, ' '  Tom  remarked, 
as  he  gave  the  young  woman's  hand  a  hearty  shake. 
"We've  been  jist  dyin'  to  see  ye.  Dad's  got  several 
chess  problems  up  his  sleeve  all  ready  to  hand  out." 

"That's  good,"  Nance  laughingly  replied.  "I  haven't 
had  a  game  for  some  time.  Would  you  like  to  have  one 
now?" 

4 '  Sure  thing ;  that 's  if  you  have  time. ' ' 

Soon  the  board  was  spread  out,  the  chessmen  ar- 
ranged, and  the  two  players  faced  each  other,  while 
Martin  and  Tom  sat  near  at  hand  smoking  and  watch- 
ing the  game. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  come  in  to-day?"  Nance 
asked,  turning  to  Tom,  as  she  waited  for  Dad  to  make 
a  move. 

"We  brought  in  Tim  Cyr,  who  got  knocked  out  at  the 
diggin's,  an'  a  mighty  surprise  was  waitin'  fer  us  when 
we  got  to  town,  I  can  tell  ye  that." 

"Oh,  I  know,"  Nance  eagerly  replied.  "You  found 
Nurse  Marion  there,  didn't  you?  Isn't  she  lovely?" 

"Indeed  she  is,  Miss.  She's  all  gold,  if  I  don't  mis- 
take. Ye  should  have  seen  the  way  she  looked  after 
Tim  an'  helped  the  doctor.  Why,  I  never  saw  anything 
like  it." 

' '  And  didn  't  she  have  things  fixed  up  in  great  shape, ' ' 
Dad  remarked,  taking  his  eyes  for  the  first  time  from 
off  the  game. 

"Oh,  I  guess  somebody  helped  her  with  that,"  Tom 
chuckled.  ' '  She  told  me  all  about  it. ' ' 

"Did  she?"  and  the  look  on  Nance's  face  showed  her 
delight.  "It  was  so  nice  to  be  there.  She  is  the  first 
white  woman  I  ever  met,  and  I  hope  to  see  her  often." 


THE  RIVER  FLOWS  BETWEEN          241 

"Ye  won't  find  all  like  her,  remember,  Miss,"  and 
Tom 's  voice  had  a  note  of  pathos  in  it.  ' '  She  is  one  in 
a  thousand.  Not  many  would  be  willin'  to  come  in  here 
to  help  us  poor  critters.  Now,  them  other  women,  they  're 
here  fer  no  good,  an'  they're  bound  to  cause  a  lot  of 
trouble.  Something  has  got  to  be  done,  an '  I  believe  that 
the  parson  11  take  a  hand  in  the  matter  to  save  the  boys. 
Before  the  women  came  there  was  the  whiskey.  Now, 
with  both  women  an'  whiskey  things  are  bound  to  be 
pretty  lively.  The  saloon  is  goin'  full  blast,  an'  the 
parson  has  been  worryin'  a  good  deal.  It  was  in  ker- 
nection  with  this  matter  that  he  visited  us  at  the  dig- 
gin's  to-day.  He  outlined  his  plan,  an',  by  jiminey! 
we're  goin'  to  help  him." 

"Sure  thing,"  Dad  assented,  as  he  swung  up  his 
queen,  in  an  effort  to  corner  Nance's  king.  "We'll 
stand  by  the  parson.  Check ! ' ' 

"Mate!"  Nance  triumphantly  cried,  bringing  up  a 
knight,  and  completely  cornering  Dad 's  king. 

"Well,  I'll  be  jiggered!"  the  prospector  exclaimed, 
as  he  studied  the  clever  trap  into  which  his  opponent 
had  led  him.  ' '  I  didn  't  see  what  you  were  up  to  till  the 
last.  My!  that  was  well  done,  an'  you  certainly  do  de- 
serve the  game,"  and  he  lifted  his  eyes,  filled  with  ad- 
miration, to  the  flushed  face  of  his  fair  young  woman, 
who  had  outwitted  him  so  cleverly. 

"I  hope  the  parson '11  do  as  well  at  his  game  over 
yon,"  Tom  quietly  remarked.  "I'm  afraid  there'll  be 
many  checks  before  it's  mate  in  his  case.  But  he's  got 
good  grit,  an'  that's  a  great  thing  in  his  favour.  He's 
made  a  fair  start  so  fer  in  gittin'  the  hospital  built,  an* 
havin'  a  nurse  brought  in.  As  soon  as  the  boys  see  that 


242  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

he  goes  in  fer  practical  religion,  an'  if  they've  eyes  at  all 
they  must  surely  see  it  by  now,  then  they  '11  be  with  him. 
I  think  that  next  Sunday  'ill  tell  the  tale. ' ' 

"What's  going  to  happen  next  Sunday?"  Martin 
quietly  asked. 

"Didn't  I  tell  ye?  No?  Well,  that's  queer,"  and 
Torn  ran  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  through  his  long 
hair.  "To  think  that  we  f ergot  to  mention  sich  an 
important  piece  of  news,  an'  it  was  what  took  the  par- 
son all  the  way  out  to  the  diggin  's  fer,  too. ' ' 

"Quit  yer  croaking,  Tom,  and  come  to  the  point," 
Dad  growled.  "If  you  don't  I'll  have  to." 

"Feelin'  sore  over  yer  lickin',  are  ye?"  Tom  ban- 
tered. "Well,  the  parson  has  been  doin'  some  serious 
thinkin'  of  late,  an'  so  he  wanted  our  advice.  He  knew 
that  the  miners  at  Quaska  an'  on  the  creeks  need  some 
attraction  to  keep  them  away  from  the  saloon,  an'  to 
give  'em  'an'  uplift,'  as  he  calls  it.  He,  therefore,  sug- 
gested that  we  hold  a  bang-up  service  next  Sunday  night 
in  the  hospital.  We  agreed  that  it  was  a  fine  idea,  an' 
promised  that  we  'd  do  all  we  could  to  round  up  the  boys. 
I  don't  think  there  will  be  any  trouble  in  gittin'  'em, 
especially  if  there's  plenty  of  music  an'  singin'.  With 
two  fiddles  a-playin'  the  boys  'ill  do  the  rest." 

This  mention  of  the  violins  was  a  little  ruse  on 
Tom's  part  in  order  to  see  how  Martin  would  take  it. 
But  the  latter  made  no  comment.  He  sat  very  still, 
looking  straight  before  him,  and  Tom  alone  noted 
the  expression  upon  his  face,  from  which  he  sur- 
mised that  the  quiet  man  was  fighting  a  fierce,  stubborn 
battle. 

"Ye '11  play,  lassie,  won't  ye?"  Tom  asked,  turning 


THE  EIVER  FLOWS  BETWEEN  243 

to  Nance.  "I  know  that  the  boys  would  like  it  great, 
an'  the  parson — well,  he'll  about  stand  on  his  head." 

"I  should  dearly  love  to  play,"  Nance  laughingly  re- 
plied, "that  is,  if  daddy  will  let  me.  But  perhaps  I 
might  break  down  in  the  presence  of  so  many  men.  I 
am  sure  to  get  nervous,  and  will  hardly  know  what  I 
am  doing. ' ' 

"Don't  let  that  trouble  ye,  Miss,"  Tom  hastened  to 
reply.  "Ye  have  the  nurse  with  ye.  Maybe  she  sings, 
an'  if  she  does  so  much  the  better.  Then,  if  everything 
goes  off  well  at  the  first  service,  the  boys  'ill  be  sure  to 
flock  back  ag'in,  an'  the  saloon  will  be  a  heavy  loser." 

Martin  sat  for  a  long  time  outside  the  door  of  his 
house  after  the  two  prospectors  had  gone  home.  Nance, 
tired  out,  was  asleep.  Sounds  from  the  mining  camp 
fell  upon  his  ears.  He  could  hear  the  loud  talking  and 
laughing,  mingled  occasionally  with  the  voices  of 
women.  Lights  twinkled  here  and  there  throughout  the 
town,  while  the  saloon  down  by  the  lake  was  ablaze  with 
numerous  candles.  A  hilarious  time  was  being  held 
there,  he  well  knew.  He  compared  the  scene  now  with 
what  it  was  before  the  miners  came.  Then  peace  and 
quiet  dwelt  over  the  entire  place  instead  of  the  dis- 
cords which  were  making  the  night  hideous. 

One  small  light,  trailing  out  into  the  darkness,  held 
Martin's  attention.  It  came  from  the  hospital,  and  he 
thought  of  the  woman  there  who  was  keeping  watch 
over  the  patient.  This  was  her  first  night  at  Quaska, 
and  he  realised  how  lonely  she  must  be.  He  had  no 
doubt  now  that  it  was  Beryl.  The  description  which 
Nance  had  given,  and  what  she  had  told  him,  made 
him  certain  that  it  could  be  no  one  else.  He  mar- 


244  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

veiled  how  strangely  it  had  come  to  pass  that  she  of  all 
women  should  come  to  Quaska.  He  thought,  too,  how 
differently  their  lives  would  have  been  but  for  his  own 
terrible  fall.  No  doubt  they  would  be  living  in  their 
own  happy  home,  respected  by  all.  But  oh,  how  oppo- 
site the  reality.  There  was  Beryl,  lonely  in  that  build- 
ing over  yonder,  and  he  himself  a  dejected  outcast,  with 
the  future  holding  not  a  ray  of  hope,  and  the  past  only 
gall  and  wormwood.  What  would  Beryl  think  and  do, 
he  wondered,  if  she  knew  that  he  was  so  near,  with  only 
the  river  flowing  between?  But  she  must  never  know, 
ao  he  told  himself.  Then  a  great  longing  came  upon  him 
to  see  her,  to  look  upon  her  face  once  more.  It  would 
be  so  easy,  he  mused,  to  slip  over  the  river,  and  peer 
in  through  the  window  from  which  the  light  was  stream- 
ing. He  banished  this  idea,  however,  as  unmanly,  and 
so  contented  himself  with  thinking  about  Beryl  as  he 
knew  her  in  the  sweet  old  days  before  they  were  sepa- 
rated. 

And  so  on  this  night  while  Martin  sat  and  dreamed, 
a  lonely,  tear-stained-faced  woman  stood  at  the  little 
window  of  her  room  and  gazed  out  into  the  night,  think- 
ing of  him,  who  was  so  near,  and  yet  so  far  away.  And 
between  these  two  flowed  the  silent  river,  dark  and  swift 
on  its  way  to  the  deep  lake  below. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE  FACE  AT  THE  DOOR 

NEXT  morning  Nance  was  up  earlier  than  usual. 
Her  step  was  light  as  she  moved  about  the  room 
preparing  breakfast.  She  was  happier  than  she  had 
been  for  many  a  day,  for  the  meeting  with  Nurse  Marion 
had  a  wonderful  effect  upon  her  young  life.  She  was 
thinking  now  of  everything  the  nurse  had  said.  She 
wanted  to  be  like  her,  and  then  she  was  sure  that  Dick 
would  not  be  ashamed  of  her.  She  thought,  too,  of  the 
hospital,  and  how  delightful  it  would  be  to  assist  with 
the  patients.  She  was  very  anxious  to  be  over  there, 
for  she  felt  certain  that  the  nurse  would  need  her. 

The  idea  of  a  service  on  Sunday  night  interested  her 
very  much.  She  had  some  doubt  about  her  ability  to 
play.  She  felt  sure  that  she  would  be  nervous,  and  per- 
haps break  down.  But  then  she  knew  that  Dick  and  the 
nurse  would  help  her  out,  so  everything  would  be  all 
right.  She  wondered  if  her  father  would  go  over  to  the 
service.  If  so,  and  he  consented  to  play,  it  would  make 
it  so  much  easier  for  her. 

While  these  thoughts  were  running  through  Nance's 
mind  Martin  drew  near.  He  had  taken  his  early  morn- 
ing walk  as  usual,  after  having  made  on  the  fire  and 
called  Nance.  He  heard  her  humming  a  tune  before  he 

245 


246  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

reached  the  door,  and  he  was  not  slow  in  detecting  the 
note  of  happiness  which  could  only  come  from  a  heart 
overflowing  with  peace  and  joy.  He  paused  upon  the 
threshold  to  look  upon  her.  Though  always  fair  and 
graceful  to  his  eyes  she  seemed  to  excel  in  loveliness  as 
she  stood  before  him  this  morning. 

Nance  greeted  him  with  a  bright  smile  as  he  entered 
the  room. 

"Breakfast  is  all  ready,  daddy.     You  must  be  hun- 


"Indeed  I  am,"  was  the  reply.  "My  walk  has  sharp- 
ened my  appetite.  '  ' 

Together  over  the  meal  the  two  discussed  the  affairs 
at  the  mining  town.  The  scraps  of  news  they  had  heard 
were  of  much  interest.  But  Nance's  mind  was  upon 
Nurse  Marion,  and  about  her  she  talked.  She  told  her 
father  over  again  what  had  happened  at  the  hospital  on 
'the  previous  day.  Martin  did  not  attempt  to  restrain 
her.  In  fact,  he  did  not  wish  to  do  so  now.  He  listened 
attentively  to  every  word  she  uttered,  and  at  times 
found  himself  leaning  eagerly  forward  that  he  might 
not  miss  anything. 

"And  only  think,  daddy!"  she  cried,  "Nurse  Marion 
wants  me  to  help  her  whenever  I  can.  She  said  she 
was  so  pleased  to  have  me,  and  I  told  her  that  I  would 
go  if  you  would  let  me.  And  you  will,  daddy,  won't 
you?" 

"Yes,  little  one,  if  it  will  make  you  happy.  I  can 
trust  you  with  —  with  Nurse  Marion.  '  ' 

"But  I  will  look  after  our  house,  daddy,  just  the 
same.  I  will  cook,  wash,  and  do  all  the  house  work. 
I  shall  get  up  very,  very  early,  and  attend  to  it.  Then 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  DOOR      247 

I  can  spend  the  afternoons  at  the  hospital,  and  learn 
so  many  things  from  Nurse  Marion.  I  long  more  and 
more  to  be  a  nurse,  and  I  know  that  she  will  teach  me. 
"Won't  it  be  strange,  daddy,  to  see  the  hospital  full  of 
miners  next  Sunday?" 

"It  certainly  will,  Nance.  But  perhaps  not  many  of 
them  will  be  there." 

"You  will  go,  daddy,  will  you  not?"  Nance  asked. 
"I  don't  see  how  I  can  play  alone.  If  you  are  there  I 
shall  not  mind  it  one  bit." 

"Nance?"  and  Martin  looked  straight  into  the 
maiden 's  eyes  as  he  uttered  her  name. 

"Yes,  daddy." 

"I  want  you  to  promise  me  two  things." 

"Yes,  daddy." 

"You  are  never  again  to  ask  me  to  go  to  any  service 
across  the  river,  neither  are  you  to  inquire  as  to  the 
reason  why  I  wish  you  to  promise  me  this." 

"Yes,  daddy,  I  promise,"  was  the  faltering  response. 

' '  That 's  good.    Now  don 't  forget,  little  one. ' ' 

Martin's  mind  was  now  doubly  agitated.  He  became 
exceedingly  restless,  and  spent  most  of  his  time  out  on 
the  hills.  Here,  and  alone,  he  could  brood  over  the 
strange  events  which  had  come  so  recently  into  his  life. 
Besides  the  deep  stirring  of  his  heart,  owing  to  Beryl's 
arrival,  he  was  face  to  face  with  the  question  of  the 
service  to  be  held  at  the  hospital  Sunday  night.  His 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  days  when  he  would  have 
looked  forward  with  joy  for  the  time  to  arrive  when  he 
could  take  part  in  the  beautiful  service  of  the  Church 
to  which  he  had  once  belonged.  But  now  an  outcast, 
not  only  by  his  bishop,  but  also  by  his  own  conscience, 


248  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

the  punishment  was  almost  more  than  he  could  endure. 
How  truly  did  he  understand  the  words  of  the  aged 
bishop.  He  had  laughed  scornfully  at  them  then,  little 
realising  how  terribly  true  they  were,  and  how  the  day 
would  come  when  their  fulfilment  would  give  him  such 
intense  mental  agony. 

Often  he  would  sit  under  the  shade  of  some  tree,  and 
look  down  over  the  lake,  especially  upon  the  hospital, 
which  appeared  like  a  speck  in  the  distance.  He  would 
picture  Beryl — not  Nurse  Marion  to  him — moving  about 
the  building,  and  attending  to  the  wants  of  the  patient. 
He  knew  that  Nance  was  there  most  of  the  day,  talking 
with  Beryl,  and  looking  into  her  face.  The  latter  was 
constantly  before  him,  not  as  a  nurse,  with  hair  streaked 
with  grey,  but  as  he  had  seen  her  seated  at  the  piano 
on  that  Christmas  eve  as  he  watched  her  through  the 
window  of  her  old  home.  All  the  love  which  he  then 
had  for  this  beautiful  woman  came  back  upon  him  with 
greater  intensity  now  because  of  the  smouldering  fire 
of  long  years,  and  the  thought  that  she  could  never 
be  his,  nor  could  he  speak  to  her,  nor  listen  to  her 
voice. 

Every  night  Martin  would  come  back  home  with  face 
drawn  and  haggard,  and  an  absent,  far-away  look  in 
his  eyes.  Nance  became  much  worried  about  him,  and 
confided  her  trouble  to  Dick. 

"Perhaps  it  is  the  arrival  of  the  miners  that  is  af- 
fecting him,"  the  latter  suggested. 

"It  may  be  that,"  Nance  mused.  "Still  I  cannot  un- 
derstand him.  He  is  away  from  home  most  of  the  day, 
and  when  he  comes  back  he  looks  so  strange.  I  asked 
him  to  go  to  service  Sunday  night  and  play  with  me. ' ' 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  DOOR      249 

"Will  he?"  Dick  eagerly  inquired.  "That  would  be 
such  a  help." 

"No,  he  will  not  go,  and  he  made  me  promise  that  I 
would  never  ask  him  again." 

"Why?    I  wonder." 

' '  He  made  me  promise  further  that  I  would  never  ask 
him  to  tell  the  reason  why  he  would  not  go." 

"Oh!" 

Dick  was  as  much  puzzled  as  Nance  over  Martin's 
strange  behaviour,  and  the  next  day  he  mentioned  the 
matter  to  Tom.  It  was  Sunday  afternoon,  and  the  pros- 
pector had  come  into  town  to  be  early  for  the  service, 
and  to  assist  in  any  way  he  could  with  the  prepara- 
tions. 

"So  he  refused  to  come  an'  play,  did  he?"  Tom  ques- 
tioned. 

"Refused  point-blank,  so  Nance  said,  and  he  made 
her  promise  that  she  would  never  again  ask  him  to  go 
to  service,  nor  the  reason  why  he  would  not  do  so.  Now, 
what  can  you  make  out  of  that?" 

"He's  a  reason,  no  doubt,"  was  the  reply. 

"Don't  you  remember,  Tom,"  Dick  continued,  "how 
strangely  he  acted  when  we  first  came  to  his  house  last 
spring?" 

"I  haven't  fergotten,  pard.  He  certainly  did  act 
queer.  It  was  a  problem  to  me." 

Tom  didn't  say  that  it  was  a  problem  no  longer.  He 
understood  now  very  well  why  Martin  was  unwilling 
to  attend  the  service,  and  accordingly  had  demanded 
those  promises  from  Nance.  But  nothing  would  induce 
him  to  divulge  any  of  the  knowledge  of  Martin's  past 
life  which  he  himself  had  acquired.  "What  people 


250  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

don't  know  about  sich  things,"  he  had  said  to  himself, 
"won't  do  any  harm,  an'  it  might  make  matters  very 
uncomfortable  fer  Martin  an'  the  lassie." 

Martin  was  unusually  quiet  all  day  Sunday.  He  did 
not  go  out  to  the  hills,  but  sat  under  the  shade  of  a  large 
tree  near  the  house,  reading,  or  pretending  to  do  so. 
Nance  was  with  him  most  of  the  day  reading  a  book 
Nurse  Marion  had  let  her  have.  It  was  entitled  "In 
the  Service  of  the  King,"  and  dealt  with  the  work  of 
trained  nurses  in  all  lands.  Several  chapters  told  of 
the  heroic  services  of  devoted  women  in  the  mission 
fields.  Nance  was  thrilled  and  delighted  with  the  book. 
At  times  she  would  call  her  father's  attention  to  some 
striking  passage,  and  read  it  to  him. 

As  the  afternoon  waned  Nance  left  home,  for  Nurse 
Marion  had  invited  her  to  tea  in  her  little  room. 

"You  do  not  mind  my  leaving  you,  daddy?"  she 
asked,  putting  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  giving 
him  an  affectionate  kiss. 

"I  am  always  pleased  to  see  you  happy,  little  one," 
Martin  replied  with  a  smile. 

But  as  he  watched  her  as  she  moved  lightly  down  to 
the  canoe,  carrying  her  violin  with  her,  a  great  loneli- 
ness swept  over  him.  He  knew  that  in  reality  Nance's 
heart  was  not  with  him,  but  over  the  river  with  Dick 
and  the  nurse.  The  thought  that  she  could  go  to  the 
service  with  such  a  free-from-care  spirit  pressed  heavily 
upon  his  soul.  He  saw  now  that  the  time  was  not  far 
off  when  she  would  be  no  longer  with  him  to  kiss  him 
good-bye.  A  new  life  of  freedom  and  service  was  open- 
ing up  to  her,  while  for  him  the  future  held  only  mis- 
ery in  store.  The  associations  of  the  wilderness  would 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  DOOR      251 

attract  Nance  but  a  little  longer,  he  could  see  that,  and 
then  he  would  be  left  alone. 

Martin  prepared  his  supper,  but  ate  little,  as  he 
missed  the  familiar  form  at  the  head  of  the  table.  He 
soon  pushed  back  his  stool,  rose  and  went  to  the  door. 
The  room  appeared  unbearably  close  to-night,  and  he 
needed  the  freshness  of  the  open  air.  He  sat  outside, 
lighted  his  pipe,  and  smoked.  His  eyes  were  fixed  con- 
stantly upon  the  hospital  across  the  river.  He  knew 
that  it  would  be  late  before  the  service  began,  for  the 
miners  would  not  gather  until  darkness  had  spread  over 
the  land.  Thus  hour  after  hour  he  remained  there,  and 
had  Nance  looked  forth  she  might  have  seen  his  form 
appearing  like  a  speck  against  the  log  building.  But 
she  was  too  much  engaged  with  other  things  just 
then  to  think  of  the  lone  watcher  on  the  opposite 
bank. 

The  sun  swung  down  behind  the  tall  mountain  peaks, 
and  twilight  settled  over  the  land.  Then  Martin  rose, 
closed  the  door  of  his  house,  and  walked  rapidly  toward 
the  Indian  village.  Here  he  obtained  Taku's  canoe,  and 
paddled  slowly  out  upon  the  lake.  Several  times  he 
passed  by  the  mining  town,  and  noted  the  stir  about 
the  door  of  the  saloon.  Near  the  hospital,  some  dis- 
tance away,  scarcely  a  person  was  to  be  seen.  "Was  the 
service  to  be  a  failure  after  all?  he  asked  himself.  At 
length  he  saw  a  number  of  men  sauntering  toward  the 
river,  followed  after  a  while  by  others.  Thus  he  knew 
that  the  movement  for  the  service  had  begun.  He  con- 
tinued his  paddling  around,  keeping  at  the  same  time  a 
close  watch  upon  the  land  until  he  felt  sure  that  all  who 
were  going  had  entered  the  hospital.  He  then  headed 


252  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

the  canoe  up  the  river,  stopping  at  length  at  the  very 
place  where  Nance  had  landed  that  afternoon. 

Trees  lining  the  bank  draped  the  shore  in  deep  shad- 
ows, and  here  Martin  crouched,  listening  with  straining 
ears  for  whatever  sounds  might  come  from  the  building 
above.  He  had  not  long  to  wait  before  he  heard  the 
sweet  strains  of  Nance's  violin  sounding  forth  upon  the 
still  night  air.  It  was  the  familiar  tune  of  a  well- 
known  hymn,  and  soon  he  heard  numerous  voices  lifted 
up  with  one  accord. 

When  the  singing  ceased  a  deep  silence  ensued.  Then 
some  one  began  to  speak,  and  Martin  knew  that  the  mis- 
sionary had  begun  the  service.  Occasionally  a  few  fa- 
miliar words  reached  him,  and  he  was  thus  enabled  to 
follow  what  was  being  said  without  much  difficulty. 

As  he  remained  crouching  there  amid  the  deepening 
darkness,  he  pictured  to  himself  what  was  taking  place 
within  the  hospital.  He  could  see  the  miners  seated 
around  the  room  on  rough  benches,  and  the  missionary 
standing  before  them  reading  the  service.  Nance,  no 
doubt,  was  near,  holding  her  violin  in  her  hands,  wait- 
ing for  the  next  hymn.  But  where  was  Beryl  ?  he  won- 
dered. "Was  she  sitting  near  Nance?  The  memory  of 
the  many  times  he  had  seen  her  seated  at  the  organ  in 
the  church  in  his  first  and  only  parish  came  upon  him 
now  with  a  sudden  stabbing  intensity.  He  recalled, 
especially,  one  bright,  beautiful  July  day.  The  win- 
dows of  the  church  were  open.  Bees  hummed  among  the 
flowers  outside,  birds  chirped  and  sang,  while  the  per- 
fume of  fragrant  fields  was  wafted  into  the  building. 
There  were  sweet  flowers,  he  remembered,  upon  the 
Communion  Table,  and  on  the  organ.  Beryl,  all  in 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  DOOR      253 

white,  was  sitting  in  her  accustomed  place,  and  during 
the  service  he  stole  an  occasional  glance  in  her  direc- 
tion. He  noted  the  happiness  upon  her  face,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  love  in  her  eyes  as  she  played.  How  full  of 
peace  and  joy  was  his  heart  that  day.  He  had  been 
lifted  up  to  the  seventh  heaven  of  ecstasy.  And  yet 
from  that  state  of  bliss  he  had  fallen,  and  had  plunged 
into  the  deep  abyss  of  hell  and  despair.  He  thought 
of  the  angels  who  had  been  driven  headlong  out  of 
heaven,  and  of  the  first  parents  thrust  out  from  the 
Garden  of  Eden.  To  have  known  the  joy  and  peace  of 
walking  with  the  Master  made  the  sting  of  banishment 
all  the  more  terribly  poignant. 

The  sound  of  the  violin  again  striking  up  roused  Mar- 
tin from  his  reverie.  The  tune  as  before  was  familiar, 
and  he  hummed  it  to  himself.  But  this  time  there  wa« 
no  chorus  of  discordant  voices.  One  alone  was  singing, 
and  the  crouching  man  started,  and  then  sprang  to  hi* 
feet  as  the  sound  reached  his  ears.  It  was  a  woman's 
Toice,  and  he  at  once  recognised  it  as  Beryl 's. 

' '  There  were  ninetj  and  nine  that  safely  lay 
In  the  shelter  of  the  fold; 
But  one  was  out  on  the  hills  away, 
Far  off  from  the  gates  of  gold, 
Away  on  the  mountains  wild  and  bare, 
Away  from  the  tender  Shepherd's  care. " 

Martin  stood  there  beneath  the  trees,  every  nerve  alert, 
and  his  ears  strained  so  as  not  to  miss  one  note  of  that 
voice  which  had  been  silent  to  him  for  years.  Suddenly 
an  overmastering  impulse  seized  him  to  behold  onee 
again  the  face  of  the  singer.  He  accordingly  moved  up 


254  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

the  hill  like  a  man  impelled  forward  by  some  unseen 
power.  Reaching  the  corner  of  the  building,  he  paused 
just  for  an  instant,  and  then  stepped  to  the  door,  which 
was  wide  open,  and  looked  in.  His  eyes  roamed  for  an 
instant  around  the  room.  He  saw  as  in  a  dream  the 
miners  seated  there,  almost  breathless,  with  their  faces 
turned  in  one  direction.  Then  his  eyes  rested  upon 
Beryl !  As  he  saw  her  he  clutched  the  side  of  the  door 
for  support,  while  his  face  went  deathly  white.  Yes,  it 
was  she,  there  was  no  mistake,  the  same  form,  the  same 
face,  though  more  worn  than  when  last  he  beheld  it,  and 
the  same  sweet  voice,  but  filled  with  a  vibrant  note  of 
sadness. 

"And  all  through  the  mountains  thunder  riven, 
And  up  from  the  rocky  steep, 
There  arose  a  cry  to  the  gates  of  Heaven, 
'Kejoice,  I  have  found  my  sheep!' 
And  the  angels  echoed  around  the  throne, 
'Eejoice,  for  the  Lord  brings  back  His  own.'  " 

When  the  last  note  had  rippled  forth,  a  silence  which 
could  be  felt  pervaded  the  room.  Then  a  sound,  half 
sob  and  half  wail  of  despair,  caused  the  miners  to  look 
hurriedly  around.  Those  nearest  the  door  caught  a 
fleeting  glimpse  of  a  face  white  and  haggard,  which  dis- 
appeared instantly  into  the  night. 

Later,  when  Nance  walked  slowly  homeward,  with 
Dick  by  her  side,  Martin  was  sitting  before  the  door  of 
his  house  awaiting  her  return. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE  INNER  IMPULSE 

THE  success  of  the  service  showed  the  necessity  of  a 
church  building.  There  might  come  a  time  when 
the  hospital  could  not  be  used,  owing  to  the  number  of 
patients.  Dick  had  often  revolved  this  idea  in  his  mind, 
and  he  believed  that  the  time  had  now  arrived  for  defi- 
nite action.  But  it  was  not  his  intention  to  have  a  build- 
ing which  would  be  closed  six  days  in  the  week  and  open 
only  on  Sunday  for  service.  No,  it  was  to  be  used  every 
day,  and  during  the  evenings  as  well.  It  was  to  be  a 
place  where  the  evil  influence  of  the  saloon  and  the 
dance-hall  could  be  counteracted.  He  sadly  noted  how 
soon  the  latter  had  been  erected  after  the  arrival  of  the 
women,  and  how  well  it  was  patronised.  The  church 
building  must  be  cosy,  and  serve  as  a  place  where  the 
miners  could  meet  in  genial  intercourse,  play  games, 
smoke,  and  relate  their  experiences  in  the  northland.  It 
was  to  be  a  reading-room  as  well,  for  he  knew  that  by 
the  time  the  building  was  ready  he  would  be  able  to 
have  on  hand  a  liberal  supply  of  magazines  from  the 
mission  station  down  river.  They  would  be  somewhat 
old,  to  be  sure,  but  that  would  make  little  difference, 
as  the  miners  were  hungry  for  reading  matter  of  any 
kind. 

255 


256  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

When  Dick  unfolded  his  plan  to  Tom  and  Dad  they 
became  at  once  very  enthusiastic,  and  promised  to  do 
all  in  their  power  to  assist.  They  in  turn  mentioned  thp 
idea  to  a  number  of  miners,  but  with  little  success.  A 
few  agreed  to  help,  but  most  of  them  were  indifferent. 
This  did  not  discourage  the  missionary,  however,  and 
his  little  staff  of  workers.  They  very  well  knew  that  a 
church  building  would  not  appeal  to  the  miners  half 
as  much  as  a  hospital.  But  if  it  could  be  built  it  would 
prove  as  great  if  not  a  greater  benefit  in  the  end.  It 
was  Nurse  Marion's  interest  and  encouragement  which 
did  so  much  to  advance  the  scheme.  Often  in  the  even- 
ing the  faithful  band  would  gather  at  the  hospital  to 
talk  over  the  whole  matter  and  discuss  plans  for  the 
building.  Nance  could  not  always  be  present,  so  the 
nurse  would  talk  it  all  over  with  her  when  they  were 
alone  during  the  afternoons.  Nance  was  thus  enabled 
to  carry  the  news  to  Martin,  who  listened  with  great 
interest  to  the  new  project  which  was  now  on  foot. 

And  thus  once  again  Dick  plunged  into  the  forest, 
axe  in  hand,  to  prepare  the  logs  for  the  little  church. 
Tom  assisted  him  for  a  whole  week,  while  Dad  looked 
after  the  mines.  Summer  was  passing  all  too  rapidly, 
and  the  days  were  perceptibly  shortening.  It  was  a 
great  sacrifice  on  Tom's  part  to  leave  the  diggings  just 
at  this  season.  But  he  could  not  see  the  missionary 
stuck.  "It  may  be,"  he  quietly  remarked  to  Dad,  "that 
helpin'  to  build  the  church  'ill  do  me  more  good  in  the 
end  than  diggin'  gold.  What  we  dig  out  yon,  Dad,  'ill 
perish,  but  in  hewin'  these  sticks  I'm  feelin'  that  I'm 
layin'  treasures  up  yon  in  the  world  to  come." 

Besides  giving  of  their  time  and  labour  Tom  and  Dad 


THE  INNER  IMPULSE  257 

contributed  as  much  as  they  were  able  of  their  gold.  In 
this  way  several  idle  men  were  hired  to  work  upon 
the  building.  Others  gave  sparingly,  and  thus  the  un- 
dertaking steadily  though  slowly  advanced.  But  wages 
were  high,  and  at  last  the  day  came  when  Dick  found 
himself  alone,  and  with  no  gold  to  employ  any  one  to 
assist  him.  It  was  impossible  for  his  two  faithful  friends 
to  be  with  him  now.  A  long  hard  winter  lay  ahead,  and 
as  they  had  recently  got  their  mine  in  good  working 
order,  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  keep  at  it  almost 
day  and  night,  if  they  were  to  take  out  enough  gold  to 
last  them  until  spring. 

The  thought  of  winter  had  given  Dick  considerable 
worry  ever  since  the  arrival  of  the  steamer.  Many  peo- 
ple had  flocked  into  the  region,  and  others  would  fol- 
low later,  who  had  little  money,  and  who  had  staked 
claims  on  creeks  tributary  to  the  Quaska,  where  there 
was  very  little  gold.  What  they  would  do  when  the 
cold  weather  set  in  was  a  problem  which  he  had  dis- 
cussed not  only  with  Tom  and  Dad,  but  with  Martin 
and  Nance  as  well.  Game  was  becoming  scarce  in  the 
vicinity  of  Quaska,  as  the  moose  and  caribou  were  re- 
treating farther  into  the  hills  from  the  presence  of  the 
white  men. 

Dick  was  also  troubled  about  the  church,  as  he  feared 
that  he  would  not  have  it  finished  before  winter.  He 
was  doing  all  he  possibly  could,  and  he  worked  hard 
every  day.  It  was  always  a  comfort  for  him  to  slip 
over  in  the  evening  to  see  Nance.  Her  presence  cheered 
him  when  most  depressed.  She  looked  upon  the  bright 
side,  and  he  always  went  back  to  his  task  the  next  morn- 
ing with  renewed  courage. 


258  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

Martin  was  often  a  silent  listener  as  Dick  talked  about 
the  church,  and  the  fear  which  was  tugging  at  his  heart 
lest  it  would  not  be  completed  in  time  to  be  used  that 
season. 

"There  are  men  on  the  creeks,"  the  missionary  ex- 
plained one  evening,  "who  would  be  glad  of  a  job  if  I 
only  had  some  money  to  give  them."  He  was  sitting 
gazing  absently  into  the  fire  as  he  spoke,  with  Nance 
and  Martin  seated  near.  "They  have  had  bad  luck, 
and  are  about  stranded.  The  stores  will  not  trust  them, 
80  I  understand,  and  what  will  become  of  them  is  hard 
to  tell.  It  is  a  pity  that  they  didn't  go  out  on  the  last 
steamer.  They  were  urged  to  do  so,  but  they  were  de- 
termined to  stay  to  make  good." 

"Won't  the  rest  of  the  miners  help  them?"  Nance 
asked.  "The  ones  who  have  done  well  will  surely  not 
allow  them  to  starve. ' ' 

"Oh,  no.  I  believe  that  they  will  share  with  them, 
or  at  least  some  will.  But  many  of  the  men  who  are 
hard  up  will  not  ask  for  help.  They  will  live  in  their 
lonely  shacks  far  up  on  the  creeks.  They  will  roam 
the  forest  for  game,  and  subsist  on  half  a  meal  a  day. 
They  will  brood  and  worry  all  through  the  winter,  and 
when  the  long  nights  come  their  position  will  be  about 
unbearable.  I  have  heard  of  such  cases  before.  Some 
will  starve  to  death,  while  others  will  go  out  of  their 
minds.  I  fear  that  we  shall  have  many  sad  cases  on  our 
hands  before  spring." 

' '  Are  the  stores  well  supplied  with  provisions  ? ' '  Mar- 
tin asked.  "I  have  never  been  over  to  find  out." 

"Yes,  I  believe  there  is  plenty  to  last  all  through  the 
winter  if  it  could  be  equally  distributed  among  the 


THE  INNER  IMPULSE  259 

miners.  But  those  who  are  able  to  buy  will  get  most 
of  it,  while  others  will  get  very  little. ' ' 

"Will  the  prices  go  up  later,  do  you  think?"  Martin 
queried. 

"I  am  sure  they  will.  The  store-keepers  will  wait 
until  navigation  closes,  and  then  they  will  jump  the 
prices.  They  always  do  that,  so  I  understand.  I  call 
it  a  mean  business." 

Four  days  after  this  conversation  Martin  returned 
from  a  trip  up  the  creeks.  Nance,  who  was  preparing 
supper  as  he  entered  the  house,  noted  the  buoy- 
ancy of  his  step,  and  the  new  expression  which  shone 
in  his  eyes.  He  appeared  to  her  like  a  man  who 
had  been  groping  for  something  for  a  long  time  and 
at  last  had  found  it.  A  smile  even  spread  over  his 
face  as  Nance  greeted  him  with  cheerful  words  of 
welcome. 

"My,  that  supper  smells  good!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
laid  his  rifle  aside.  "I  am  almost  starved." 

"Have  you  travelled  far  to-day,  daddy?" 

"Yes.  I  have  been  over  several  of  the  creeks.  I 
wanted  to  find  out  how  much  Dick  knows  about  the  con- 
dition of  the  miners  out  there." 

"And  did  you?" 

"Partly.  I've  not  been  over  all  the  creeks  yet,  but 
so  far  I  have  learned  that  he  is  right.  There  will  cer- 
tainly be  much  suffering  this  winter." 

Martin  said  nothing  more  about  his  visit  to  the  creeks, 
but  that  evening,  much  to  Nance's  surprise,  he  brought 
forth  his  violin,  and  asked  her  to  accompany  him.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  he  had  done  such  a  thing  since 
the  arrival  of  the  miners. 


260  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"What  shall  we  play,  daddy?"  Nance  queried  as  she 
tuned  up  her  violin. 

"Something  sweet  to-night,  little  one.  Anything  that 
strikes  the  fancy." 

He  then  began  to  play  the  air  of  "Ninety  and  Nine." 
"Sing  it,  Nance,"  he  commanded.  "Do  you  know  the 
words?" 

"I  have  them  here  in  this  book  which  Nurse  Marion 
let  me  have,"  was  the  reply.  "But,  oh,  I  wish  you 
could  have  heard  her  sing  it  last  Sunday  at  service.  It 
was  wonderful,  and  the  men  were  so  still  when  she  got 
through,  except  one  person  near  the  door. ' ' 

"And  what  did  he  do?"  Martin  inquired. 

"He  made  a  strange  noise,  something  between  a  sob 
and  a  cry." 

' '  Did  any  one  know  who  it  was  ? ' ' 

"No.  We  were  talking  about  it  afterwards,  and  Tom 
said  that  the  words  of  the  hymn  must  have  struck 
some  poor  chap  pretty  hard  to  make  him  cry  out  like 
that." 

Martin  made  no  reply,  but  played  the  tune  over 
softly,  while  Nance,  with  the  book  open  before  her,  sang 
the  words  in  a  clear,  sweet  voice. 

The  former  sat  for  a  while  when  the  hymn  was  ended, 
with  the  violin  resting  upon  his  knees. 

' '  I  can 't  play  any  more  to-night,  Nance, "  he  at  length 
remarked.  "Put  this  away,  please,"  and  he  handed  the 
instrument  to  her. 

That  night  after  Nance  had  gone  to  bed  Martin  sat 
for  a  long  time  before  the  dying  coals  of  the  fire.  He 
held  in  his  hand  a  sheet  of  note  paper,  on  which  he  had 
traced  with  a  lead  pencil  the  Quaska  Eiver  and  the  vari- 


THE  INNEE  IMPULSE  261 

ous  creeks  running  into  it.  On  these  latter  he  had  made 
certain  marks,  which  indicated  where  the  cabins  of  the 
miners  were  situated.  Several  were  close  together,  but 
most  of  them  were  far  apart.  On  a  number  of  the 
creeks  he  had  made  no  marks  at  all.  ' '  I  must  visit  them 
as  soon  as  I  can,"  he  mused.  "I  learned  to-day  that 
one  man  is  a  long  way  off,  living  in  a  cabin  all  by  him- 
self, without  even  a  dog  for  a  companion." 

It  was  after  midnight  when  Martin  at  length  folded 
up  the  paper,  put  it  into  his  pocket,  and  rose  to  his 
feet.  He  listened  attentively,  until  satisfied  from  her 
regular  breathing  that  Nance  was  asleep.  Then  taking 
the  candle  in  his  hand,  he  went  at  once  to  the  strong- 
room at  the  back  of  the  house.  Unbarring  the  door,  he 
opened  it,  entered,  and  closed  it  carefully  behind  him. 
Crossing  to  the  middle  of  the  room,  he  lifted  the  trap- 
door and,  holding  the  light  in  his  left  hand,  peered  down 
upon  the  treasure  which  he  had  not  looked  upon  for 
years.  It  was  all  there  just  as  he  had  left  it,  with 
not  a  gleaming  grain  molested.  Near  by  was  a  tin 
can  which  he  had  used  in  bringing  the  gold  from  up 
river.  Seizing  this,  he  placed  it  near  the  hole  and, 
scooping  up  the  gold  with  his  hand,  he  soon  had  the  can 
filled  to  the  brim.  This  accomplished,  he  replaced  the 
trap-door  and,  passing  out  of  the  room,  shut  to  and 
barred  the  door  as  it  was  before. 

Picking  up  a  piece  of  paper  lying  on  a  shelf,  he 
scrawled  a  few  words  with  his  lead  pencil.  Folding  up 
the  paper,  he  pressed  it  down  on  the  inside  of  the  can 
so  that  only  a  small  portion  was  left  in  sight.  Picking 
up  the  can,  and  blowing  out  the  candle,  he  passed  out 
of  the  house,  shut  the  door,  and  hurried  down  to  the 


262  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

shore,  where  his  canoe  was  lying.  It  did  not  take  him 
long  to  cross  to  the  opposite  bank,  where  he  landed,  as 
he  did  the  previous  Sunday  night,  just  below  the  hos- 
pital. 

Carrying  the  tin  of  gold  in  his  hands,  he  moved  cau- 
tiously up  among  the  trees.  The  night  was  quite  dark, 
but  he  was  able  to  see  the  building  rising  up 
black  before  him.  He  did  not  stop  now  at  the  front 
of  the  hospital,  but  moved  around  to  the  side,  where 
he  knew  there  was  a  separate  door  leading  into 
Beryl's  room.  His  steps  were  more  wary  than  ever 
now,  for  he  was  afraid  lest  the  least  noise  should  be- 
tray him. 

Reaching  at  length  the  door,  he  placed  the  can  upon 
the  sill  so  that  it  could  without  any  doubt  be  seen  when 
Beryl  opened  the  door  in  the  morning.  His  errand 
completed,  Martin  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he 
stepped  back  among  the  trees.  He  did  not  leave  at 
once,  but  stood  there  for  some  time,  with  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  room  in  which  he  knew  Beryl  was  sleeping.  He 
looked  toward  the  door.  It  was  there  where  she  passed 
in  and  out,  and  her  feet  had  often  touched  that  sill. 
He  started  suddenly  forward  several  paces,  and,  stoop- 
ing, he  impulsively  pressed  his  lips  to  the  hard  board 
sill.  Then  he  sprang  hurriedly  back,  surprised  at  his 
own  action,  and,  delaying  no  longer,  plunged  among  the 
trees,  and  hastened  to  the  river. 

After  breakfast  the  next  morning  Martin  again  went 
into  the  strong-room  and,  opening  the  trap-door,  picked 
up  a  number  of  fine  nuggets,  and  placed  them  in  his 
pocket.  He  then  went  back  to  the  living-room  and  in- 
formed Nance  that  he  was  going  over  the  river  and 


THE  INNER  IMPULSE  26S 

might  not  be  back  for  several  hours.  Nance  was  some- 
what surprised  at  this,  for  Martin  had  always  persist- 
ently refused  to  go  with  her  to  the  town.  She  watched 
him  as  he  paddled  his  canoe  down  the  river,  and  then 
along  the  edge  of  the  shore  until  he  came  to  the  steam- 
boat landing,  where  he  ran  ashore.  Beyond  this  she 
could  not  follow  his  movements.  Her  curiosity  was  now 
much  aroused,  which  was  by  no  means  lessened  when 
she  saw  him  returning  about  two  hours  later  with  the 
canoe  loaded  with  supplies  from  the  store.  She  ran 
down  to  the  shore  to  meet  him,  and  was  greatly  excited 
when  she  saw  the  quantity  of  provisions  he  had  on 
board. 

"Why,  daddy!"  she  exclaimed,  "have  you  cleared  the 
store  all  out?" 

"Not  at  all,"  was  the  laughing  reply.  "I  had  no 
idea  that  the  stores  were  so  well  stocked  with  provisions. 
They  will  hardly  miss  what  I  have  brought  away.  They 
thought  that  I  was  a  miner." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  all,  daddy? 
We  couldn't  use  so  much  flour,  rice,  bacon,  beans,  tea, 
and  sugar  in  two  years." 

"Couldn't  we,  dearie?  Are  you  sure  of  that?"  and 
Martin 's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  looked  into  Nance 's  puzzled 
face.  "We'll  store  it  away  in  the  strong-room,  and  this 
winter  you  will  see  how  we  can  use  it.  There  will  be 
five  times  as  much  before  I  am  through,  or  else  I  am 
greatly  mistaken.  You  need  not  mention  to  any  one  at 
the  hospital  what  I  am  doing.  It  is  just  as  well  for  peo- 
ple not  to  know  too  much,  see?" 

Nance  helped  her  father  to  carry  up  the  supplies  and 
store  them  carefully  away.  She  longed  to  know  what 


264  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

he  intended  to  do  with  such  a  quantity  of  provisions, 
but  somehow  she  did  not  dare  to  question  him  any  fur- 
ther. 

Martin  sat  for  a  long  time  before  the  fire  that  night 
after  Nance  had  gone  to  bed.  He  held  a  book  in  his 
hand,  though  he  read  but  little.  His  thoughts  were 
elsewhere,  and  an  occasional  sigh  escaped  his  lips.  At 
length  he  arose  and  crossed  the  room  to  his  cot,  and 
drew  forth  from  beneath  it  a  small  box.  This  he  opened 
and  took  out  a  little  package,  carefully  wrapped  in  an 
old  piece  of  faded  brown  paper.  Carrying  this  back 
to  the  fire,  he  sat  down.  His  hand  trembled  slightly  as 
he  undid  the  covering  and  looked  upon  the  newspaper 
clipping  which  was  exposed  to  view.  Long  years  had 
passed  since  he  had  last  read  the  story  of  his  shame 
and  disgrace.  He  had  never  desired  to  do  so  since  Nance 
had  come  into  his  life.  But  now  he  wished  to  read  that 
account  once  again.  With  the  new  impulse  that  had 
come  to  him  he  believed  that  he  could  do  so  without  any 
of  the  old  feeling  rising  in  his  heart  to  torture  him  as 
formerly. 

Carefully  he  read  every  word,  and  then  laid  the  clip- 
ping upon  the  book  lying  on  the  table  by  his  side,  and 
gave  himself  up  to  thought.  His  whole  past  life  rose 
before  him  with  wonderful  clearness.  Nothing  was 
omitted.  He  wished  to  view  everything  before  shutting 
it  out  from  his  mind,  as  he  believed,  forever.  A  new 
man  was  rising  within  him,  which  was  to  cast  off  the 
old. 

It  was  late  when  he  rose  from  the  chair,  closed  the 
book,  placed  it  upon  the  shelf,  and  then  threw  himself 
upon  his  cot. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE  KEEPSAKE 

EVERY  day  Nurse  Marion  was  kept  busy  at  the  hos- 
pital. She  had  three  injured  men  to  look  after 
now  instead  of  one,  and  from  early  morn  until  late  at 
night  she  cared  for  her  patients.  She  found  Nance  of 
great  assistance,  and  looked  forward  to  her  arrival 
every  afternoon.  In  fact,  she  was  more  drawn  to  this 
maiden  of  the  wilderness  than  to  any  other  woman  she 
had  met  for  years.  She  was  charmed  with  her  sim- 
plicity and  naturalness  of  manner.  There  was  nothing 
artificial  about  her.  She  had  none  of  the  languid  veneer 
of  many  of  the  young  women  in  towns  and  cities.  She 
was  so  anxious  to  learn,  and  quick  in  acquiring  knowl- 
edge, that  the  nurse  was  delighted.  During  the  few 
weeks  that  they  were  together  it  was  remarkable  the 
progress  Nance  made  in  the  ways  of  house-keeping, 
sewing,  and  cooking,  as  well  as  looking  after  the  pa- 
tients. 

Beryl  needed  a  companion  upon  whom  she  could  de- 
pend. For  years  her  life  had  been  a  lonely  one,  not- 
withstanding her  constant  activity.'  People  loved  her, 
and  the  miners  down  river  almost  worshipped  her.  For 
them  there  had  always  been  a  ready  smile  and  a  sym- 

265 


266  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

pathetic  word  of  cheer  or  comfort.  But  none  knew  of 
the  great  sorrow  which  had  come  into  her  life  years 
before,  nor  the  heaviness  of  her  heart  at  times  as  she 
went  about  her  daily  duties.  Try  as  she  might  she  could 
not  banish  from  her  mind  the  one  who  had  been  the 
cause  of  her  sorrow.  Hers  was  not  a  nature  which 
could  lightly  put  away  precious  memories  and  reach  out 
and  enjoy  things  which  were  new.  Her  love  had  been 
too  deep  and  sacred  to  be  cast  off  at  the  least  pretext 
or  provocation.  She  had  often  heard  young  people  talk- 
ing about  love  as  something  that  could  be  worn  to-day 
like  a  beautiful  robe  and  cast  aside  to-morrow  and  for- 
gotten. Of  such  a  love  she  knew  nothing.  Love  to  her 
was  an  inseparable  attribute,  constantly  with  her,  and 
forming  a  part  of  her  very  being  as  the  fragrance  is  to 
the  rose. 

Of  her  past  life,  and  the  longing  which  still  dwelt  in 
her  heart  for  the  one  whom  she  had  never  expected 
to  see  again,  she  could  not  speak  to  others.  The  mere 
idea  of  bringing  forth  all  of  those  memories  for  people 
to  gaze  upon  and  discuss  was  most  horrible  to  her  sensi- 
tive nature.  There  was  nothing  in  common,  not  the 
slightest  link,  between  the  ones  she  daily  met  and  her 
own  past  life.  They  could  lavish  their  affection  upon 
her,  praise  her,  and  admire  her,  but  still  she  felt  alone. 
She  could  touch  the  world  of  activity  and  seem  to  take 
her  place  naturally  among  men  and  women,  but  they 
could  not  enter  into  her  life.  There  she  had  remained 
alone  until  Nance  crossed  her  path.  Then  a  marvellous 
change,  had  taken  place.  Nance  was  not  only  different 
from  others  she  had  met,  but  she  was  the  one  link  be- 
tween the  past  and  the  present. 


THE  KEEPSAKE  267 

To  no  one  had  Beryl  breathed  Martin 's  name  after  his 
disgrace.  But  with  Nance  it  was  otherwise.  She  could 
talk  to  her  freely  about  him  with  no  reserve  whatso- 
ever. During  their  quiet  afternoon  hours  each  day  she 
skilfully  drew  from  Nance  the  story  of  her  young  life 
as  far  back  as  she  could  remember.  Often  Beryl's  eyes 
would  fill  with  tears  as  she  listened  to  the  brave,  earnest 
struggle  Martin  had  made  to  care  for  the  waif  of  the 
wild,  and  to  develop  her  mind.  Nance  told  her  story 
well,  and  the  listener  hung  on  every  word  with  the  most 
intense  interest.  Often  the  nurse  would  watch  Nance  as 
she  moved  about  the  room.  She  was  really  Martin's 
child.  He  had  stamped  upon  her  his  own  personality. 
She  even  spoke  as  he  did,  and  Beryl  noted  that  she  pro- 
nounced certain  words  with  the  same  accent  that  she 
knew  was  peculiar  to  Martin.  The  more  she  was  with 
Nance,  and  learned  from  her  lips  of  what  her  foster- 
father  had  done  for  her,  the  more  deeply  wrung  was 
Beryl's  heart.  She  recalled  the  fierce  denunciations 
which  had  been  heaped  upon  him  after  his  fall,  while 
she  alone  had  been  silent.  A  great  longing  now  came 
into  her  heart  to  publish  to  the  world  the  story  of  what 
he  had  done  for  an  orphan  child  in  the  northern  wil- 
derness. If  those  who  had  denounced  him  the  most  bit- 
terly only  knew,  she  often  said  to  herself,  would  they 
not  think  of  him  in  a  different  light,  and  judge  him  less 
harshly  ? 

"You  must  be  very  happy  here,  nurse,"  Nance 
naively  remarked  one  afternoon,  as  the  two  were  sitting 
by  the  window. 

"Why,  what  makes  you  think  so?"  was  the  surprised 
reply. 


268  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"Because  you  are  so  beautiful,  and  do  so  much  good 
to  others." 

Nurse  Marion's  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  head  bent 
lower  over  her  work. 

"Do  you  know,"  and  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  her  com- 
panion's face,  "that  I  have  often  thought  the  same 
thing  about  you?" 

"About  me!  Oh,  nurse,  what  could  make  you  think 
such  a  thing?" 

"You  are  pretty,  happy,  and  you  have  done  much." 

"I  never  knew  that  I  was  pretty  until  Dick  told  me, 
and  I  am  glad  that  I  am — for  his  sake.  But  what  have 
I  done  in  life  ?  I  have  had  no  chance  like  you. ' ' 

"If  I  am  not  mistaken,  Nance,  you  have  done  very 
much  for  a  lonely  man.  Did  you  ever  think  how  strange 
it  is  that  your  father — I  can't  help  calling  him  that — 
should  have  left  the  ways  of  civilisation  to  bury  himself 
here  in  the  wilderness?" 

"I  have  thought  about  it  at  times,  and  I  once  spoke 
of  it  to  daddy." 

"And  what  did  he  say?" 

"He  did  not  answer  me,  but  such  a  sorrowful  ex- 
pression came  into  his  eyes  that  I  never  had  the  heart 
to  ask  him  again. ' ' 

"I  have  thought  very  much  about  it,  Nance,"  the 
nurse  continued.  "There  surely  must  have  been  some 
great  trouble  in  his  past  life  which  sent  him  away  from 
his  friends  and  relatives.  Did  you  ever  think  about 
that?" 

"Why,  no!" 

"It  must  have  been  something  terrible,  whatever  it 
was,  and  his  heart  must  have  been  full  of  the  deepest 


THE  KEEPSAKE  269 

despair.  Now,  suppose  you  had  not  come  into  his  life, 
what  do  you  think  would  have  happened?" 

"  I  do  not  know.    Do  you  ? ' ? 

"Not  altogether,  but  I  can  partly  imagine.  He  might 
have  united  himself  to  the  Indians,  and  lived  like  one 
of  them,  or,  what  is  more  likely,  he  would  have  brooded 
over  his  trouble,  until,  on  the  verge  of  despair,  he  might 
have  ended  his  life." 

' '  Oh !  do  you  think  so  ? "  and  Nance  clasped  her  hands 
before  her,  while  her  eyes  looked  big  with  wonder. 
"Would  daddy  have  done  that?" 

"He  might  have  done  so  if  he  had  not  found  you. 
You  have  been  his  guardian  angel  during  his  long  life 
in  this  country.  Upon  you  he  has  lavished  his  affec- 
tions. For  you  he  lived  and  toiled.  You  brought  out 
the  best  that  was  in  him.  You  do  not  know,  you  can- 
not fully  understand  now  what  great  things  you  have 
done  for  him.  He  might  have  been  dead,  or  worse  than 
dead,  but  for  you." 

Stirred  by  her  deep  emotions,  Nurse  Marion  had  risen 
to  her  feet,  and  was  standing  over  Nance.  Her  face  was 
flushed,  and  her  eyes  glowed  with  the  light  of  excite- 
ment. She  checked  herself  almost  instantly,  however, 
.upon  observing  her  companion's  wondering  look.  With 
a  slight  forced  laugh  she  straightened  herself  up,  and 
resumed  her  former  calm  manner. 

All  through  the  evening  Nance  thought  over  what  the 
nurse  had  said  about  her  father.  She  quietly  studied 
him  as  he  sat  smoking  before  the  fire.  She  had  always 
known  that  she  owed  much  to  him,  but  that  she  had 
done  anything  in  return  was  an  altogether  new  idea. 
If  there  had  been  great  trouble  in  his  past  life,  why  had 


270  IP  ANY  MAN  SIN 

he  not  mentioned  it  to  her  ?  she  wondered.  Perhaps  the 
nurse  was  mistaken  in  what  she  had  surmised.  The 
thought  that  she  knew  for  a  certainty  whereof  she  spoke 
never  once  entered  Nance's  mind.  But  there  came  to 
her  the  remembrance  of  her  father's  peculiar  action  at 
times,  especially  since  the  arrival  of  the  miners.  This 
had  often  puzzled  her.  She  had  spoken  of  it  to  Dick, 
why  not  mention  it  to  Nurse  Marion  as  well  ?  It  would 
relieve  her  mind,  at  any  rate,  to  talk  it  over  with  a 
woman.  She  would  do  so  the  next  day,  so  she  decided. 

When  Nance  crossed  over  to  the  hospital  the  following 
afternoon  she  found  Dick  there.  He  and  the  nurse  were 
both  greatly  excited,  caused  by  the  can  of  gold,  which 
was  before  them  on  the  table. 

"It  was  on  the  sill  just  outside  when  I  opened  the 
door  this  morning,"  Nurse  Marion  explained  as  Nance 
approached.  "I  could  not  understand  what  was  the 
meaning  of  it  until  I  discovered  this  note,"  and  she 
pointed  to  the  slip  of  paper. 

' '  For  the  new  church,  from  one  who  wishes  to  remain 
unknown. ' ' 

That  was  all,  and  as  Nance  scanned  the  words  she  felt 
sure  that  she  recognised  her  father's  handwriting.  Then 
she  glanced  toward  the  can,  and  it,  too,  looked  familiar. 
Though  she  had  not  seen  it  for  years  she  remembered 
now  the  first  time  she  had  looked  upon  it,  when  the  In- 
dians had  brought  it  over  the  mountains  from  the  trad- 
ing post,  filled  with  tea.  The  picture  of  a  beautiful 
flower  on  the  outside  had  interested  her  greatly,  and  she 
had  often  looked  upon  it  as  a  child  as  it  sat  upon  the 
shelf  against  the  wall.  Then  it  had  disappeared,  and 
she  had  forgotten  about  it  until  now. 


THE  KEEPSAKE  271 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea  who  has  given  all  this  gold 
for  the  church  building. ' ' 

Nance  heard  Dick  utter  these  words,  but  his  voice  ap- 
peared far  away,  and  she  herself  seemed  to  be  dream- 
ing. Her  father  had  given  the  gold  she  was  quite  cer- 
tain. He  must  have  taken  it  from  the  strong-room,  and 
"brought  it  over  at  night.  But  why  did  he  wish  his  name 
to  be  unknown?  Why  had  he  given  all  of  this  for  the 
church  when  he  himself  would  not  attend  service? 

She  took  a  seat  by  the  side  of  the  little  table  and 
watched  Dick  as  he  emptied  out  the  gold.  What  beauti- 
ful nuggets  there  were,  both  large  and  small. 

"My!  they  look  good,"  the  missionary  exclaimed. 
"How  fascinating  they  are.  There  will  be  enough  to 
finish  the  church,  I  do  believe." 

"Some  one  has  a  big  heart,"  Nurse  Marion  replied, 
looking  down  thoughtfully  upon  the  gleaming  pile  be- 
fore her.  "How  strange  that  he  should  have  left  it  at 
my  door." 

Nance  listened  to  the  conversation,  but  said  nothing. 
She  was  unusually  quiet.  She  longed  to  tell  all  she  knew 
about  the  gold.  But  this  she  must  not  do.  Her  father 
did  not  wish  any  one  to  know  what  he  had  done,  so  she 
must  be  true  to  him,  and  tell  the  secret  to  no  one,  not 
even  to  Dick.  The  latter  noted  her  silence,  and  won- 
dered what  was  the  matter. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  can?"  she  at 
length  asked. 

"Keep  the  gold  in  it,  of  course.    Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Oh,  I  hardly  know,  except — that — if  you  were  not 
going  to  use  it,  I  should  like  to  have,  it. ' ' 

"For  a  keepsake?" 


272  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

' '  Yes.    But  if  you  need  it,  never  mind. ' ' 

"Why,  you  are  welcome  to  it.  I  can  put  the  gold  in 
something  else." 

Nance  said  no  more  then,  but  that  evening  as  she  was 
leaving  the  hospital  she  picked  up  the  can,  and  wrapped 
it  up  carefully  in  the  apron  she  had  been  wearing  that 
afternoon.  Dick  was  waiting  to  accompany  her  home, 
and  an  amused  smile  played  about  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  as  he  observed  what  she  was  doing. 

Nurse  Marion  watched  them  as  they  left  the  building, 
and  walked  slowly  down  to  the  river.  They  were  so 
happy  in  each  other's  company  that  her  own  sense  of 
loneliness  sank  deeper  than  ever  into  her  soul. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

ATONEMENT 

SUMMER  passed  all  too  soon  for  the  miners  in  the 
valley  of  the  Quaska.  The  days  were  shortening 
and  the  nights  lengthening  in  an  alarming  manner. 
Great  wedge-like  battalions  of  wild  geese  honked  their 
way  southward  each  day  until  all  had  fled.  A  greyness 
settled  over  the  land,  and  at  night  the  Northern  Lights 
flared  brighter  in  the  heavens.  It  was  quite  evident  to 
all  that  winter  was  not  far  off.  To  the  ones  not  pre- 
pared for  its  coming  the  outlook  was  not  pleasant.  They 
had  but  started  panning  out  gold,  and  there  was  little 
prospect  that  they  could  do  much  more  before  spring. 

At  the  approach  of  winter  Martin  once  again  resumed 
his  rounds  of  the  creeks.  Many  of  the  miners  who  had 
cleaned  up  a  considerable  amount  of  gold  during  the 
summer  had  moved  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and 
settled  in  little  shacks  at  Quaska.  These  men  could  bu> 
their  supplies  at  the  stores,  even  though  the  prices  were 
exorbitant.  But  the  ones  who  had  met  with  no  success 
could  not  afford  such  luxuries.  They  preferred  to  re 
main  on  the  creeks,  to  hide  their  poverty  from  prying 
eyes,  and,  if  possible,  eke  out  a  precarious  living  from 
any  wild  game  they  might  be  able  to  procure  with  their 
rifles. 

273 


274  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

Carrying  with  him  sufficient  food  to  last  him  for  sev- 
eral days,  Martin  halted  at  each  cabin.  He  was  always 
given  a  hearty  welcome,  and  won  all  hearts  by  his  bright- 
ness and  his  optimistic  spirit.  To  the  miners  he  was 
one  of  themselves,  and  they  believed  that  he  was  in  the 
same  straitened  circumstances  as  they  were.  Upon  leav- 
ing he  was  always  invited  to  come  again,  and  as  often, 
as  possible. 

Martin  returned  home  at  the  end  of  each  week.  Dur- 
ing his  absence  Nance  stayed  with  Nurse  Marion,  for 
her  assistance  was  needed  now  at  the  hospital  more  than 
ever,  owing  to  the  number  of  patients  who  had  been 
admitted.  Martin  was  always  eager  to  hear  all  the  news 
from  across  the  river,  and  he  would  sit  and  listen  while 
Nance  recounted  everything.  She  told  him  about  the 
church ;  that  it  was  all  finished,  and  how  it  was  opened 
each  night  for  the  men  to  gather  to  play  games,  and  to 
read  the  few  books  which  the  missionary  had  brought 
with  him. 

"We  might  let  some  of  our  books  go,  eh  ? "  and  Martin 
nodded  toward  the  volumes  upon  the  shelves. 

"Oh,  that  would  be  so  nice,  daddy,"  Nance  replied. 
"The  men  will  be  delighted.  May  I  take  several  over 
to-morrow  ? ' ' 

"No,  not  now.  It  will  be  better  to  wait  until  winter 
settles  in.  If  they  read  them  all  now  they  will  have 
nothing  when  the  evenings  are  long  and  cold.  "Wait  un- 
til then." 

Nance  was  greatly  pleased  at  the  change  which  had 
come  over  Martin.  He  talked  more,  and  the  worried, 
haunted  expression  had  left  his  eyes.  She  often  spoke 
about  him  to  Nurse  Marion,  and  the  latter  was  never 


ATONEMENT  275 

tired  of  listening  to  her,  and  she  would  occasionally 
question  Nance  about  her  father. 

The  next  time  that  Martin  left  his  house  for  the 
creeks  he  carried  with  him  his  violin.  At  every  cabin 
he  was  doubly  welcomed  now,  and  often  he  would  play 
for  hours  to  a  handful  of  men  who  had  drifted  into  the 
shack  which  he  happened  to  be  visiting.  He  sang,  too, 
and  at  times  the  miners  would  join  in  when  the  tune 
and  the  words  were  familiar.  He  was  surprised  at  first 
to  find  how  frequently  the  men  asked  for  some  well- 
known  hymn,  and  as  they  all  sang  it  he  noted  the  ex- 
pression upon  their  faces.  He  knew  that  they  were  face 
to  face  with  a  hard  proposition,  and  needed  something 
to  keep  up  their  spirits. 

Thus  from  cabin  to  cabin  he  moved,  bringing  cheer 
and  comfort  wherever  he  went.  The  men  were  loth  for 
him  to  leave  and  always  pressed  him  to  stay  longer.  As 
the  days  shortened,  and  the  long  evenings  became  almost 
unbearable,  the  lonely  men  counted  the  days  and  the 
hours  which  would  bring  Martin  and  his  violin  once 
again  to  their  doors.  They  could  not  understand  him 
now,  and  often  discussed  among  themselves  why  he 
should  make  such  regular  rounds  of  the  creeks.  Al- 
though they  knew  where  he  lived,  and  how  long  he  had 
been  in  the  country,  he  would  never  talk  about  himself. 
This  added  to  the  mystery  concerning  him.  What  can 
he  be  doing  it  for?  they  asked  over  and  over  again. 
Some  believed  that  it  was  for  the  enjoyment  he  got  out 
of  it,  and  the  companionship  of  the  miners.  But  when 
he  spent  a  whole  week  with  Andy  Henderson,  caring 
for  him  when  he  was  sick,  the  miners  did  not  know  what 
to  think. 


E76  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"If  he  was  a  parson,"  one  remarked,  "the  whole 
thing  would  be  clear." 

"Sure  thing,"  another  replied.  "But  he  never  says 
a  word  about  religion." 

"Doesn't  he,  eh?  That's  where  you  are  mistaken. 
His  is  a  religion  of  deeds  and  not  words.  If  he  had 
come  here  and  handed  out  a  whole  lot  of  talk  about 
being  patient  under  discouragements  how  much  good 
would  it  have  done  us?  Mighty  little,  I  can  tell  you 
that.  But  he  drops  in  on  us  with  a  word  of  cheer,  and 
brings  along  his  fiddle.  That's  the  religion  which  gets 
me  every  time." 

Winter  shut  down  unusually  early,  and  gripped  the 
northland  in  its  icy  embrace.  Every  time  Martin  made 
his  rounds  of  the  creeks  he  noticed  the  grim  spectre  of 
famine  and  despair  creeping  upon  the  miners  in  their 
desolate  cabins.  They  scoured  the  land  for  miles  around 
in  search  of  game,  with  but  meagre  success,  for  the 
moose  and  caribou  had  withdrawn  farther  afield  upon 
the  arrival  of  the  white  men.  To  follow  them  far  the 
miners  had  not  the  strength.  They  had  been  living  upon 
short  allowance  for  some  time,  and  every  day  their  small 
supplies  were  becoming  much  diminished.  Several,  feel- 
ing the  pinch  of  want,  went  to  the  stores  in  town,  and 
asked  to  be  supplied  with  food  on  credit  until  spring. 
Their  request  was  refused,  and  with  hearts  rankling 
with  bitterness  they  marched  back  up  the  creek  to  bear 
the  news  to  their  companions.  The  proud  spirit  of  this 
little  band  of  men  was  aroused,  and  they  swore  that 
they  would  die  rather  than  ask  again  for  any  food  from 
Quaska.  They,  accordingly,  shared  their  scanty  remain- 
ing supply  with  one  another  with  the  feeling  that  when 


ATONEMENT  277 

this  was  gone  there  was  nothing  before  them  but  death. 

Winter  was  now  upon  them  in  all  its  fierceness.  The 
weather  was  extremely  cold,  and  snow  lay  thick  over  the 
land.  At  this  critical  time  Martin  one  day  appeared 
at  the  cabin  nearest  to  Quaska.  He  was  not  alone  this 
time,  for  he  had  a  sled  loaded  with  provisions,  and 
drawn  by  two  husky  dogs  he  had  borrowed  from  Taku, 
the  Indian. 

"Had  more  grub  on  hand  than  I  needed,"  was  his 
brief  explanation  to  the  miners  as  they  stared  longingly 
upon  the  loaded  sled. 

Then  throughout  the  creeks  he  moved,  dispensing  sup- 
plies wherever  he  went,  and  when  all  was  gone  he  hur- 
ried back  for  more.  His  feverish  eagerness  to  be  doing 
something  for  others  was  what  puzzled  the  miners.  He 
was  now  more  of  a  mystery  than  ever.  "Whereas  at  first 
they  considered  him  as  one  of  themselves  they  came  at 
last  to  look  upon  him  as  some  unearthly  being,  an  angel 
in  the  form  of  a  man,  who  had  dropped  from  heaven  to 
aid  them  in  their  distress.  Who  else  could  it  be?  they 
reasoned,  who  would  go  to  so  much  trouble  for  a  few 
lonely  men,  hard  up  in  a  desolate  region?  It  was  no 
ordinary  spirit,  they  well  knew,  which  would  drive  a 
man  out  into  such  cruel  weather  for  the  sake  of 
others. 

In  a  few  weeks  the  news  of  what  Martin  was  doing 
reached  Quaska,  and  passed  from  man  to  man,  causing 
much  curious  comment  on  every  hand.  In  some  way  the 
refusal  of  the  storekeepers  to  provide  starving  men  with 
provisions  leaked  out,  and  caused  considerable  stir 
among  the  leading  men  of  the  place,  especially  Tom. 
They  went  at  once  to  the  stores,  and  ordered  supplies 


278  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

for  their  comrades  up  the  creeks,  while  several  volun- 
teered to  carry  forward  the  provisions. 

"Who  will  pay  for  these  things?"  the  storekeepers 
whined. 

' '  Pay ! ' '  Tom  fairly  shouted  the  words.  ' '  D  'ye  think 
we'd  come  here  an'  order  this  stuff  without  holdin'  our- 
selves responsible?  Ye  deserve  to  be  cleaned  out  an' 
driven  from  town  fer  yer  meanness.  Ye've  not  only 
raised  the  price  of  yer  goods  beyond  all  reason,  but  ye 
refused  to  supply  a  few  popr  chaps  who  were  starvin'  to 
death,  an'  they  never  mentioned  it  to  a  livin'  soul. 
That's  what  ye've  done." 

So  high  did  the  feeling  run  in  Quaska  over  the  mean- 
ness of  the  storekeepers  that  a  miners'  meeting  was  held 
that  very  night,  when  Tom  was  appointed  chairman. 
Fiery  speeches  of  indignation  were  made,  and  it  was 
decided  that  the  storekeepers  had  to  come  down  in  their 
prices.  They  would  be  allowed  to  have  fair  profits  on 
all  they  sold,  but  extortion  had  to  be  stopped  at  once. 
If  they  would  not  agree  to  this,  so  it  was  decided,  their 
goods  would  be  seized,  paid  for  at  cost  price,  and  they 
themselves  driven  out  of  the  town.  In  fear  and  trem- 
bling the  storekeepers  agreed  to  the  demands  of  the 
irate  miners,  and  so  the  storm  blew  over. 

The  news  of  Martin's  noble  work  out  on  the  creeks 
was  not  long  in  reaching  the  hospital.  It  was  Tom  who 
told  the  story  in  his  own  graphic  manner.  Nance  was 
delighted  when  she  heard  what  her  father  was  doing, 
and  told  how  he  had  stored  up  the  provisions  before  the 
winter  had  set  in. 

"I  didn't  know  what  he  was  going  to  do  with  it,"  she 
said  in  conclusion,  ' '  for  he  would  not  tell  me. ' ' 


ATONEMENT  279 

As  Nurse  Marion  listened  to  the  story  her  mind  was 
busy  seeking  for  the  cause  of  Martin 's  benevolent  work. 
At  last  it  came  to  her,  and  she  knew  that  there  was 
only  one  reason  which  could  prompt  him  to  do  such 
things.  He  was  trying  to  atone  for  the  past,  and  at 
once  there  came  to  her  mind  the  fierce  struggle  which 
had  been  going  on  in  his  heart  for  long  years.  What 
a  battle  he  must  have  fought,  and  how  great  the  vic- 
tory. The  old  self  had  been  crushed  down,  and  in  its 
stead  a  new  life  of  service,  contrite  and  humble,  had 
risen,  which  had  driven  him  forth  to  live  for  others. 
She  understood  now  for  a  certainty  that  though  Martin 
had  fallen  and  could  never  be  forgiven  by  the  critical 
world  which  had  condemned  him,  yet  in  reality  he  was 
superior  to  his  critics.  He  had  sadly  missed  the  mark, 
and  had  fallen.  But  he  had  fought  a  brave  fight,  had 
risen  from  the  pit,  and  with  a  courage  which  nothing 
could  daunt  was  now  plunging  into  a  noble  work  for 
others.  As  she  thought  of  all  this  a  sweet  peace  stole 
into  her  heart.  Martin  was  worthy  of  her  affection, 
after  all,  and  her  love  had  not  been  misplaced  during 
the  years  she  had  been  loyal  to  him  while  others  had 
condemned. 

Knowing  nothing  of  the  stir  he  was  causing  at  Quaska, 
Martin  continued  his  work  of  relief  up  and  down  the 
creeks.  For  weeks  he  moved  from  cabin  to  cabin,  carry- 
ing food  where  it  was  most  needed.  But  his  own  supply 
was  getting  low,  and  only  one  sled  load  now  remained. 
He  knew  that  to  obtain  more  he  would  have  to  go  direct 
to  the  stores,  which  he  was  now  very  loth  to  do. 

He  was  travelling  late  one  cold  afternoon  far  up  a 
lonely  creek,  many  miles  from  Quaska.  He  had  only  a 


280  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

small  part  of  his  load  of  provisions  and  he  wished  to 
carry  this  to  a  man  living  all  alone,  who  was  in  great 
need.  Of  all  the  miners  he  had  met  Tim  Ealston  seemed 
the  most  obdurate  and  ungrateful.  He  was  a  man  of 
few  words,  sullen  and  morose.  His  hard  luck  during 
the  past  summer  had  embittered  him  more  than  ever, 
and  living  alone  he  had  brooded  so  much  over  his  trou- 
bles that  his  mind  became  somewhat  affected.  He  would 
rave  long  and  vehemently  about  his  hard  luck,  the  coun- 
try, and  the  hopelessness  of  the  future.  Martin  had 
visited  him  once  before,  and  had  received  such  a  cold 
reception  that  he  had  been  by  no  means  anxious  to  re- 
turn. But  as  the  severity  of  the  winter  increased  he 
found  it  difficult  to  get  Tim  out  of  his  mind.  He  knew 
that  he  must  be  hard  up  for  food,  and  he  could  not 
allow  the  man  to  starve  to  death  without  making  an 
effort  to  relieve  his  wants. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  as  Martin  at  last  halted 
before  Tim's  cabin.  It  was  bitterly  cold,  and  a  volume 
of  smoke  was  curling  up  into  the  frosty  air  from  the 
miserable  stove-pipe  sticking  out  through  the  roof.  He 
knocked,  but  received  no  reply.  Thinking  this  strange, 
he  pushed  open  the  door,  and  cautiously  entered.  All 
was  dark  within,  but  very  warm.  Feeling  in  his  pocket, 
he  found  a  piece  of  a  candle,  which  he  at  once  lighted. 
By  means  of  this  he  saw  the  form  of  a  man  huddled  on 
the  floor,  with  some  blankets  wrapped  around  him.  It 
was  Tim  with  beard  almost  to  his  waist,  and  long,  matted 
hair  streaming  over  his  shoulders.  He  hardly  resembled 
a  human  being  as  he  crouched  there,  working  his  jaws, 
and  swaying  his  body  to  and  fro. 

"Tim,  Tim,  what's  the  matter?"  Martin  cried  as  he 


ATONEMENT  281 

strode  forward  and  stood  by  the  side  of  the  poor  crea- 
ture. 

The  latter  lifted  his  shaggy  head  at  the  sound  of  these 
words,  and  turned  his  bloodshot  eyes  upon  Martin's 
face. 

"Leg  broke,"  he  feebly  wailed.  "Starving!  Dy- 
ing!" 

Martin  lost  no  more  time  in  asking  questions.  He 
hurried  outside,  freed  the  dogs,  and  drew  the  sled  with 
its  load  into  the  wretched  cabin.  He  set  to  work  at  once 
to  prepare  some  food  for  the  afflicted  man,  and  then  fed 
him  like  a  baby.  All  through  the  night  he  tended  him, 
doing  everything  in  his  power  to  relieve  his  sufferings, 
which  were  very  great.  He  knew,  however,  that  he 
needed  more  aid  than  he  could  give.  To  remain  there 
meant  death  for  Tim.  The  only  hope  was  to  get  him 
into  the  hospital  at  Quaska,  where  he  could  receive 
proper  care  and  attention. 

Martin  had  no  intention  of  going  straight  to  the  hos- 
pital with  the  suffering  man,  for  there  he  would  meet 
Beryl.  He  would  take  him  to  his  own  house,  and  let 
the  missionary  do  the  rest. 

At  the  first  faint  streak  of  dawn  Martin  began  to 
make  preparations  for  the  run  to  Quaska.  The  injured 
man  groaned  and  cursed  as  he  was  wrapped  up  as  com- 
fortably as  possible  in  his  blankets,  and  placed  upon  the 
sled.  This  latter  was  made  in  the  form  of  a  toboggan, 
and  it  would  accordingly  travel  where  an  ordinary  sled 
with  runners  could  not  be  taken.  Martin  was  most 
thankful  that  such  was  the  case,  for  he  could  make  a 
short  cut  to  Quaska  over  a  mountain-pass,  and  down  a 
long  valley  instead  of  going  by  the  much  longer  cir- 


282  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

cuitous  route  he  had  taken  on  his  outward  trip.  He 
believed  that  he  could  save  a  whole  day  by  crossing  the 
mountain,  which  would  mean  very  much  to  the  sufferer. 

The  air  was  clear  and  cold  when  at  last  the  two 
huskies,  with  short,  sharp  yelps,  pulled  away  from  the 
cabin  on  their  stern  run  to  save  the  life  of  Tim  Ralston. 
Martin  strode  on  ahead,  breaking  down  a  trail  with  his 
long,  narrow  snow-shoes.  All  day  they  pressed  forward, 
and  when  night  shut  down  Martin  was  satisfied  with  the 
progress  they  had  made  during  the  day.  Selecting  a 
sheltered  spot  among  a  thick  clump  of  fir  trees,  he  dug 
away  the  snow,  built  a  fire,  and  prepared  camp. 

Little  sleep  came  to  his  eyes  this  night.  Tim  was  more 
restless  than  ever,  and  he  had  to  be  watched  constantly 
lest  he  should  toss  aside  his  blankets,  and  thus  perish. 
Notwithstanding  the  fire  which  Martin  kept  going,  he 
found  it  very  cold,  for,  while  his  face  was  burning,  his 
back  was  freezing.  Only  twice  did  he  doze  off,  over- 
come by  fatigue  and  want  of  sleep.  But  he  always 
aroused  with  a  start,  fearful  lest  he  had  slept  too 
long. 

All  through  the  next  day  he  plodded  on  ahead  of  the 
dogs,  at  times  helping  them  by  means  of  a  rope  around 
his  shoulders,  for  the  snow  over  the  mountain  was  deep, 
and  the  sled  dragged  hard  with  its  heavy  burden.  That 
night  they  camped  upon  the  brow  of  the  range  facing 
Quaska.  Far  down  below  stretched  a  long  valley,  with 
towering  hills  on  both  sides.  Again  Martin  was  well 
pleased  with  the  progress  they  had  made,  and  he  ex- 
pected that  with  one  day  more  of  such  travelling  they 
would  not  be  far  from  Quaska,  if  not  there. 

In  the  morning  when  they  once  more  drew  away  from 


ATONEMENT  283 

camp  the  sky  was  cloudless,  and  as  they  descended  the 
mountain  side  the  air  became  warmer.  The  short  winter 
sun  lifted  its  shining  face  into  view,  and  rode  along  for 
a  while  close  to  the  horizon.  But  toward  noon  a  per- 
ceptible change  became  apparent  in  the  atmospheric 
conditions.  The  sky  grew  cloudy,  and  the  sun  disap- 
peared behind  a  thick  haze.  Ere  long  a  stiff  breeze  was 
swinging  down  the  valley,  telling  Martin  only  too 
plainly  that  a  storm  was  rapidly  brewing. 

The  region  through  which  they  were  now  travelling 
was  desolate  in  the  extreme.  Fires  had  swept  over  the 
land  years  before,  and  nothing  remained  but  gaunt  fir 
trees  and  jack-pines,  dead  and  devoid  of  every  vestige 
of  life.  Through  their  naked  branches  swept  the  ever- 
increasing  wind,  piercing  the  bodies  of  both  men  and 
dogs.  No  shelter  was  anywhere  to  be  seen,  and  Martin's 
only  hope  was  to  push  on  as  rapidly  as  possible  and 
reach  the  unburnt  forest  miles  down  the  valley.  He 
knew  only  too  well  what  it  would  mean  to  be  caught  in 
a  storm  on  that  bleak  mountain  slope  where  everything 
would  be  blotted  out  from  view,  and  where  the  tempest 
might  rage  all  day  and  far  on  into  the  night. 

Calling  encouragingly  to  the  dogs,  and  with  the  lead 
rope  about  his  shoulders,  Martin  started  forward  as 
speedily  as  the  deep  snow  would  permit.  The  huskies 
strained  at  their  traces,  yelped,  lowered  their  heads,  an^ 
surged  onward  close  at  their  master's  heels.  An  hour 
thus  passed,  and  the  wind,  increasing  in  strength  every 
moment,  was  roaring  down  the  valley,  while  particles 
of  driving  snow  began  to  fleck  the  bodies  of  the  hurrying 
wayfarers.  In  another  half -hour  the  air  was  filled  with 
blinding  snow,  which  drove  down  lashingly  upon  them, 


284  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

completely  blotting  out  everything  from  view  except 
the  swaying,  spectre-like  forms  of  the  nearest  trees. 

As  the  wind  was  full  astern,  Martin  believed  that  by 
running  straight  before  it  he  could  keep  his  course,  and 
at  length  gain  the  shelter  beyond.  He  nerved  himself 
to  the  task,  and  strained  hard  upon  the  rope.  But  ere 
long  the  dogs  began  to  lag,  whine,  and  surge  back  in 
their  harness.  Coaxing  and  whipping  did  no  good,  for 
with  the  tempest  upon  them  they  refused  to  advance, 
and  cowered  upon  the  snow.  Hastily  unhitching  the 
discouraged  animals,  Martin  made  his  rope  fast  to  the 
sled,  and  thus  alone  endeavoured  to  drag  it  forward. 
It  was  a  hard  pull,  and  slow  progress  did  he  make.  The 
helpless  man  cursed  and  groaned  as  he  felt  the  fierce- 
ness of  the  storm  beating  upon  him,  and  the  snow  drift- 
ing in  through  every  opening  of  his  blankets.  Martin 
could  not  waste  time  and  breath  in  trying  to  soothe  him. 
There  was  too  much  at  stake,  for  unless  he  reached  the 
forest  beyond  they  must  both  surely  perish. 

For  another  hour  Martin  tugged  at  the  rope,  with 
bent  head,  and  feet  shuffling  the  snow-shoes  through 
the  newly-fallen  snow.  At  last  Tim  cried  aloud,  saying 
that  he  was  freezing.  Then  Martin  paused,  stripped 
off  his  own  jacket,  and  wrapped  it  around  the  sufferer's 
body.  He  then  carefully  replaced  the  blankets  which 
he  had  removed,  and  once  again  took  up  his  weary  task. 

The  wind  now  pierced  him  cruelly,  and  chilled  him 
to  the  bone.  His  hands  became  numb,  although  he 
pounded  them  together  in  an  effort  to  keep  the  blood 
in  circulation.  At  times  his  brain  reeled,  and  he  felt 
that  he  could  go  no  farther.  But  each  time  he  thought 
of  Nance.  How  could  she  get  along  without  him?  he 


ATONEMENT  285 

asked  himself.  Beryl,  too,  came  to  his  mind.  She 
seemed  to  come  to  him  through  the  storm,  and  he  saw 
her,  not  at  the  hospital,  but  as  he  used  to  see  her  in  the 
happy  days  of  old.  The  sight  of  her  had  always  in- 
spired him  then,  as  it  did  now  in  his  fight  with  death. 
He  must  not  give  up,  he  said  to  himself.  Anyway,  if 
he  was  to  die,  it  should  be  with  his  face  to  the  front, 
and  shoulders  to  his  task.  Then  if  Beryl  should  ever 
learn  of  the  struggle  he  had  made,  it  might  do  some- 
thing to  atone  for  the  past.  She  might  not  think  of 
him  so  bitterly,  as  no  doubt  she  had  done  ever  since 
his  fall. 

And  still  the  storm  continued  to  wrap  around  him  its 
cold  winding-sheet,  entangling  his  feet,  and  endeavour- 
ing to  win  him  for  a  victim.  Martin  was  a  stern  an- 
tagonist, however,  and  fought  off  his  relentless  foe  with 
the  courage  of  desperation.  He  would  fight;  he  would 
win ;  he  would  not  give  up.  But  slower  and  slower  now 
he  moved ;  fiercer  and  fiercer  roared  the  tempest  about 
him.  Peculiar  noises  sounded  in  his  ears,  and  weird 
voices  of  demons  mocked  at  his  futile  efforts  to  stand 
upright,  and  to  press  forward.  He  saw  them  leering  be- 
fore him,  reaching  out  their  horrible  hands  to  clutch 
him.  Then  his  brain  reeled,  a  fearful  blackness  shrouded1 
his  eyes,  and  with  a  despairing  cry  he  fell  forward  full 
length  upon  the  snow. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

REVELATION 

THE  new  mission  room  proved  a  great  boon  to  the 
miners  at  Quaska.    When  it  was  first  opened  very 
few  visited  the  place,  and  the  missionary  felt  somewhat 
discouraged.    But  Tom  told  him  not  to  worry,  as  they 
would  be  sure  to  come  later. 

"Jist  wait,  pard,"  he  said,  "until  the  nights  git  long 
an'  cold,  then  ye '11  see  'em  come,  an'  mighty  glad  they'll 
be  to  have  a  spot  to  drop  into  instid  of  sittin'  in  their 
lonely  shacks." 

"But  perhaps  they'll  go  to  the  saloons  instead,"  Dick 
replied.  "Won't  they  feel  more  at  home  there?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Some  will  go,  to  be  sure.  But  all 
can't  go,  an'  all  won't  want  to  go.  Jist  ye  wait,  an' 
see." 

In  due  time  Tom's  words  came  true,  and  every  night 
saw  the  mission  room  filled  with  men.  Some  came  at 
first  rather  doubtfully,  thinking,  perhaps,  that  they  were 
to  get  a  sermon  before  they  left.  But  when  they  found 
the  room  warm,  bright,  and  filled  with  such  genial  com- 
pany they  were  delighted.  All  they  were  asked  to  do 
was  to  obey  certain  rules  which  Dick  had  posted  up  in 
several  places.  Tom  was  the  presiding  genius,  even 
though  the  missionary  was  present,  and  always  made 
every  man  thoroughly  at  home  by  his  hearty  greeting. 

286 


REVELATION  287 

"Ye 're  as  welcome  as  the  night  is  long,"  he  would 
exclaim  to  each  newcomer.  "This  is  Liberty  Hall,  with 
only  a  few  exceptions,"  and  he  would  nod  toward  the 
rules.  "Ye 're  not  to  use  any  cuss  words,  ye  mustn't 
fight  nor  gamble,  nor  come  here  with  a  reekin'  whiskey 
breath." 

Only  once  did  a  bumptious  young  miner  attempt  to 
ignore  such  instructions.  His  stay  was  brief,  for  as 
many  men  as  could  lay  hands  upon  him  hustled  him 
out  of  the  building,  with  the  warning  not  to  return  until 
he  could  behave  in  a  proper  manner. 

Dick  was  not  only  pleased  at  the  success  of  the  mis- 
sion room,  but  he  was  very  thankful  to  see  how  the  men 
attended  service  every  Sunday  evening.  But  there  was 
one  thing  lacking.  More  reading  matter  was  needed, 
and  though  he  had  placed  his  few  books  at  the  disposal 
of  the  men,  they  still  craved  for  more.  The  papers  and 
magazines  he  had  expected  from  the  Mission  down  river, 
for  some  reason,  did  not  arrive.  He  spoke  about  it  to 
Nance  the  morning  after  the  storm. 

"The  room  would  be  complete  if  we  only  had  some- 
thing more  for  the  men  to  read.  They  are  about  wild 
for  books  and  magazines.  They  have  already  devoured 
everything  in  my  small  library,  and  some  of  the  men 
are  reading  the  books  all  over  again." 

Nance  glanced  at  Dick's  worried  face,  and  her  eyes 
dropped  as  they  met  his.  An  idea  came  into  her  mind, 
and  she  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  when  she  checked 
herself.  No,  she  would  surprise  Dick,  and  that  would 
make  it  all  the  more  interesting. 

They  were  standing  close  to  each  other,  and  as  Dick 
looked  upon  Nance  he  thought  that  she  never  seemed  so 


288  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

beautiful.  There  was  such  a  simplicity  about  her  man- 
ner, combined  with  a  deep  interest  in  any  of  his  under- 
takings. Her  hands  were  clasped  before  her  as  she  stood 
there  looking  around  the  room.  How  he  longed  to  take 
those  hands  in  his,  and  tell  her  of  all  that  was  in  his 
heart.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had  desired  to 
do  so,  but  he  had  always  desisted.  He  believed  that  she 
cared  for  him,  but  he  wanted  her  to  do  more  than  that. 
He  wished  to  be  sure  that  she  loved  him.  He  was  so 
happy  in  her  presence  that  he  feared  if  he  told  her  all 
that  his  heart  prompted  him  to  tell  it  might  break  ther 
spell,  and  cause  her  to  avoid  him. 

Dick  Russell  was  not  much  acquainted  with  the  ways 
of  women.  Hitherto  little  time  or  opportunity  had  been 
his  to  devote  to  the  tender  affections.  And  in  truth  he 
had  but  slight  inclination  to  do  so  until  he  met  Nance. 
He  could  not,  therefore,  read  the  look  of  love  in  her 
eyes,  nor  comprehend  the  flush  which  suffused  her  face 
whenever  he  approached.  Could  he  have  done  so  he 
would  not  have  hesitated  about  telling  her  of  his  over- 
mastering love. 

All  that  afternoon  Nance  remained  with  Nurse  Marion 
at  the  hospital.  She  thought  much  about  her  father,  and 
wondered  if  he  was  safely  sheltered  in  some  miner's 
cabin.  He  was  in  her  mind  more  than  usual,  and  during 
the  night  as  she  listened  to  the  storm  she  felt  uneasy  as 
to  his  welfare.  Even  after  she  had  fallen  asleep  she 
awoke  with  a  start,  thinking  that  he  was  holding  out  his 
hands  to  her,  and  calling  to  her  for  aid. 

Such  an  impression  did  the  vision  make  upon  her 
that  she  could  not  free  herself  from  the  idea  that  some- 
thing had  happened  to  her  father.  During  the  morn- 


REVELATION  289 

ing  she  was  more  quiet  than  the  nurse  had  ever  seen  her. 

The  storm  had  cleared  in  the  night,  and  after  dinner 
Nance  put  on  her  snow-shoes,  and  left  the  hospital.  It 
was  Saturday,  the  day  her  father  always  came  home,  and 
it  was  her  custom  to  have  a  cheerful  fire  awaiting  him, 
and  supper  ready.  She  found  the  house  more  cold  and 
desolate  than  it  had  ever  appeared  to  her  before.  But 
when  she  had  a  bright  fire  blazing  up,  the  room  looked 
more  comfortable  and  homelike. 

Nance  sat  near  the  fire  warming  herself,  for  she  was 
cold.  She  thought  of  the  many  times  she  had  sat  there 
with  Martin  by  her  side.  Then  for  the  first  time  the 
sense  of  loneliness  came  upon  her.  She  felt  home-sick, 
and  longed  for  Martin.  She  wanted  to  have  him  near 
her,  and  listen  to  his  voice.  She  wished  to  be  a  child 
once  again,  and  to  sit  upon  his  knee  while  he  told  her 
stories.  She  had  fondly  imagined  that  she  would  be 
supremely  happy  to  be  away  from  the  log  house,  and  out 
into  the  great  world  beyond.  But  now  she  realised  that 
no  matter  where  she  might  go,  no  place  could  ever  be  so 
dear  to  her  as  this  rude  home  where  she  had  spent  so 
many  happy  years. 

She  looked  about  the  room  upon  all  that  Martin  had 
done,  and  the  various  things  that  he  had  made  for  her 
comfort.  She  had  always  appreciated  his  efforts  on  her 
behalf,  but  now  a  different  feeling  stole  into  her  heart, 
and  tears  came  into  her  eyes.  How  she  longed  to  see 
him  again,  that  she  might  tell  him  what  he  was  to  her, 
and  to  thank  him  for  so  much  kindness. 

At  length,  brushing  away  her  tears,  she  rose  to  her 
feet,  and  crossed  the  room  to  the  book-shelves.  Stand- 
ing there,  she  looked  for  a  while  upon  the  volumes  which 


290  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

Martin  had  read  with  such  enjoyment  through  the  long 
winter  evenings.  He  had  said  that  she  might  take  them 
over  to  the  reading-room  when  the  miners  needed  them 
most.  Surely  now  was  the  time,  and  when  her  father 
came  home  she  would  speak  to  him  about  them.  How 
surprised  and  delighted  Dick  would  be  when  she  car- 
ried an  armful  over  the  next  day. 

Reaching  up  her  hand,  she  brought  down  a  volume 
which  was  lying  on  top  of  several  others.  As  she  looked 
at  the  title,  she  believed  that  the  miners  would  like  it. 
It  had  been  years  since  she  had  read  it,  but  she  remem- 
bered how  delighted  she  had  been  with  it  at  the  time. 
The  hero  in  the  book  had  appealed  to  her  very  strongly. 
She  had  not  met  Dick  Russell  then,  and  she  mused  for 
a  while  about  the  difference  between  her  present  idea 
of  a  hero  to  that  of  years  ago.  Then  Martin  was  the 
only  white  man  she  knew,  and  she  had  never  looked  upon 
him  as  a  hero.  Her  heroes  were  like  those  mentioned 
in  books,  men  of  war  and  action,  who  had  accomplished 
great  things. 

Going  back  to  the  fire,  Nance  ensconced  herself  in 
Martin's  big  chair,  and  opened  the  book.  As  she  did 
so  a  newspaper  clipping  lying  between  the  leaves  at- 
tracted her  attention.  "Wondering  what  it  could  be,  she 
laid  the  book  upon  her  lap,  unfolded  the  paper,  and 
began  to  read.  She  had  not  proceeded  far  when  her 
face  went  white  as  death,  and  her  hand  trembled  vio- 
lently. She  rubbed  her  eyes  to  make  sure  that  she  was 
not  dreaming.  The  printed  columns  fascinated  her,  and 
she  read  on  and  on  until  she  came  to  the  end  of  the  sad 
tale  of  shame  and  disgrace. 

The  whole  truth  now  flashed  into  Nance's  mind  with 


REVELATION  291 

a  startling  intensity.  Her  brain  reeled,  her  heart  seemed 
numbed  at  the  shock,  and  the  light  of  life,  with  all  its 
joy,  went  out.  She  stared  long  and  hard  at  the  heading 
of  the  article.  "Deposed  by  his  Bishop."  How  terri- 
ble seemed  those  words.  And  there  was  the  name  of  the 
man  who  had  fallen,  "The  Rev.  Martin  Rutland." 
Again  she  read  through  the  entire  story,  every  word  of 
criticism,  scorn,  and  condemnation  searing  her  heart 
like  red-hot  iron.  Could  it  be  possible  that  this  was  some 
one  else  ?  she  asked  herself.  She  knew  very  well  that  it 
could  not  be,  for  why  then  should  her  father  have  the 
clipping  in  his  possession  ?  A  groan  escaped  her  parched 
lips  as  she  endeavoured  to  view  calmly  the  whole  situa- 
tion. 

Many  things  which  had  hitherto  puzzled  her  were  in- 
gtantly  cleared  up,  and  she  understood  for  the  first  time 
the  reason  of  Martin 's  peculiar  actions  since  the  arrival 
of  the  miners.  She  knew  why  he  had  fled  away  from 
the  ways  of  civilisation  to  live  alone  in  the  wilderness. 
He  did  not  wish  to  meet  people  who  knew  of  his  dis- 
grace. This,  too,  was  why  he  would  not  go  to  service  on 
Sunday.  And  to  think  that  for  years  he  had  been  de- 
ceiving her.  While  she  believed  him  to  be  so  true  and 
noble,  he  was  in  reality  a  man  utterly  disgraced,  an  out- 
cast from  the  Church  and  society. 

A  feeling  of  bitter  resentment  rushed  into  her  heart. 
"Why  had  he  treated  her  thus?  Why  had  he  pretended 
to  be  so  good  when  all  the  time  he  was  evil,  and  his 
whole  life  a  sham  ?  How  could  she  ever  face  him  again, 
knowing  everything,  and  what  he  really  was !  He  might 
return  at  any  moment,  and  find  her  sitting  there  with 
the  clipping  in  her  hand.  She  did  not  want  to  meet 


292  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

him,  for  she  felt  that  she  could  not  bear  to  do  so.  She 
must  get  away,  and  hurry  back  to  the  hospital. 

Carefully  replacing  the  paper  in  the  book,  Nance  went 
back  to  the  shelf  from  which  she  had  taken  it.  She 
paused  and  looked  around  the  room,  thinking  that  per- 
haps this  would  be  the  last  time  that  she  should  ever 
see  it  again.  Everywhere  she  beheld  the  work  of  Mar- 
tin's hands:  the  tables,  chairs,  and  decorations  on  the 
walls.  She  turned  and  walked  to  her  own  little  room, 
which  she  entered.  There,  too,  she  saw  how  he  had  fitted 
up  everything  for  her  comfort.  Then  in  an  instant 
there  came  to  her  a  great  reversal  of  feeling.  Martin, 
the  outcast,  disappeared,  and  in  his  stead  she  beheld  a 
man  strong,  patient,  and  gentle,  who  had  been  to  her 
both  a  father  and  a  mother  during  her  whole  life.  She 
thought  of  what  he  had  done  for  her,  how  he  had  striven 
for  her  welfare,  and  cared  for  her  when  she  would  have 
been  left  to  the  uncertain  mercy  of  the  Indians.  A  love 
deep  and  strong  filled  her  heart  for  this  man.  She  pic- 
tured to  herself  how  he  must  have  suffered  during  his 
exile  in  the  wilderness,  knowing  that  nothing  could  ever 
undo  the  past,  and  that  he  would  never  be  forgiven  by 
the  Church  which  had  cast  him  out.  If  she  turned 
against  him  would  it  not  break  his  heart  entirely?  No, 
she  would  be  faithful,  and  he  should  never  know  that 
she  had  seen  the  paper,  or  had  the  least  idea  of  his  past 
life.  It  would  remain  a  secret  with  her,  and  she  would 
never  breathe  a  word  to  any  one,  not  even  to  Dick. 

Nance  was  standing  erect  in  her  room  as  this  resolve 
firmly  fixed  itself  upon  her  mind.  Her  face  became 
radiant  with  a  new  light,  and  her  eyes  shone  with  the 
intensity  of  her  great  purpose.  For  a  while  she  stood 


REVELATION  293 

there,  thinking  deep,  earnest  thoughts.  A  new  sense  of 
responsibility  came  to  her.  She  now  saw  that  life  was 
not  all  joy  and  happiness.  There  was  a  tragic  depth 
beneath  into  which  for  the  first  time  she  had  been  per- 
mitted a  brief  glimpse. 

And  while  standing  there  she  heard  some  one  calling 
her  by  name.  Hurrying  forth  from  her  room,  she  saw 
Dick  coming  to  meet  her.  There  was  no  smile  upon  his 
face,  but  instead  an  expression  of  deep  concern  was 
depicted  there,  such  as  Nance  had  never  seen  before. 
Something  had  happened,  she  felt  certain,  for  what  else 
could  make  Dick  look  at  her  in  that  way  ? 

"What  is  it?"  she  gasped.  "There's  something  the 
matter,  I'm  sure." 

"You  are  wanted  at  the  hospital,  Nance,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Is  Nurse  Marion  ill?" 

"No.    It's  your  father." 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE  VALLEY   OF  THE  SHADOWS 

OUTWARDLY  Nance  was  very  calm  as  she  closed 
the  door  and  swiftly  put  on  her  snow-shoes.  But 
her  heart  was  beating  rapidly,  and  she  was  filled  with 
grave  apprehensions. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  as  she  moved  along  over  the 
snow  by  Dick's  side.  "Don't  hide  anything  from  me. 
I  want  to  know  all." 

"There  is  but  little  to  tell,  Nance,"  the  young  man 
replied.  "It  seems  that  the  Indian  Taku  was  awakened 
last  night  by  the  whining  of  one  of  his  dogs  outside  the 
cabin  door.  When  he  had  let  the  animal  in  he  found 
that  it  was  one  of  the  two  your  father  had  taken  with 
him.  The  poor  creature  was  almost  exhausted.  It  was 
carrying  its  harness  and  dragging  its  traces.  Taku 
surmised  that  something  was  wrong  and  he  at  once 
started  forth  in  the  direction  from  which  the  dog  had 
come.  The  storm  had  ceased,  and  the  moon  was  full 
when  he  set  out,  so  it  was  easy  for  him  to  follow  the 
dog's  tracks.  They  led  away  from  Quaska,  up  the  rivet, 
and  then  off  to  the  left  through  that  long  wooded  valley. 
He  had  passed  only  a  short  distance  out  of  the  woods  on 
the  upper  side  into  a  desolate  region,  when  he  found  a 
miner,  Tim  Ralston,  with  a  broken  leg,  lying  on  a  sled. 

294 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS        295 

By  his  side  was  your  father,  unconscious,  and  to  all 
appearance  dead.  With  much  difficulty  Taku  brought 
both  men  into  the  woods,  made  a  small  fire,  and  started 
off  in  post-haste  for  help.  As  luck  would  have  it,  he 
overtook  Tom,  who  had  been  storm-stayed  up  the  creek, 
and  together  they  brought  the  two  helpless  men  to  the 
hospital.  That,  in  brief,  is  the  story. ' ' 

As  Dick  ended,  Nance  stopped,  laid  her  hand  lightly 
upon  his  arm,  and  looked  searchingly  into  his  face. 

"Will  he  live?"  she  gasped. 

"I  can't  say.  He  has  been  terribly  exposed.  I  am, 
afraid  it  will  go  hard  with  him." 

"And  he  did  it  for  Tim!"  Nance  murmured.  "He 
gave  his  life  to  save  another." 

Her  thoughts  flashed  to  the  newspaper  clipping,  and 
her  heart  rebuked  her  for  her  harsh  judgment  but  a 
short  time  before.  Now  she  understood  the  motive  of 
her  father's  unceasing  efforts  on  behalf  of  the  miners, 
especially  this  last  and  greatest  sacrifice  of  all.  She  did 
not,  however,  reveal  her  knowledge  to  Dick,  but  hastened 
on,  anxious  to  reach  Martin's  side  as  soon  as  possible. 
Arriving  at  length  at  the  hospital  door,  she  and  Dick 
laid  aside  their  snow-shoes,  and  quietly  entered.  All 
was  still  within  as  they  passed  through  the  main  ward 
into  Nurse  Marion's  room. 

Here  Martin  was  lying  upon  the  one  cot  the  room 
contained,  and  by  his  side  sat  the  nurse.  She  did  not 
hear  the  steps  at  the  door,  for  her  thoughts  were  upon 
the  unconscious  man  before  her.  In  her  eyes  was  an 
expression  which  had  not  been  seen  there  since  the  days 
when  he  so  often  visited  her  in  her  old  home  years  be- 
fore. She  was  thinking  of  that  time  now,  and  she  was 


296  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

picturing  Martin  as  she  then  knew  him.  At  first  it  was 
hard  for  her  to  believe  that  this  bronzed  and  bearded  man 
was  the  same  as  she  had  known  then  and  cherished  in 
her  memory  ever  since.  She  studied  his  face  and  saw 
there  something  of  the  terrible  struggle  through  which 
he  had  passed.  She  imagined  his  agony  of  mind  after 
his  fall,  and  what  it  must  have  meant  for  him  to  live 
away  in  the  wilderness,  cut  off  from  all  the  benefits  of 
civilised  life.  No  sense  of  anger  or  reproach  came  to 
her  mind  now  as  she  sat  there,  but  only  a  pity  and  a 
love,  such  as  she  had  never  known,  possessed  her  heart. 

Nance  paused  but  for  an  instant  at  the  door,  and 
then  with  a  cry  hurried  forward,  and  knelt  by  the  side 
of  the  bed.  She  seized  Martin's  right  hand  in  hers, 
and  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

"Daddy!  daddy!"  she  cried.  "I  am  here.  Speak  to 
me.  It  is  Nance." 

But  no  sign  of  recognition  came  from  the  unconscious 
form  upon  the  cot.  As  Nance  continued  to  press  the 
outstretched  hand,  Nurse  Marion  rose  and  walked  over 
to  the  window,  and  looked  out  upon  the  world  of  snow 
beyond.  Tumultuous  thoughts  surged  suddenly  through 
her  mind  as  she  saw  Nance  kneeling  by  the  bed  and 
listened  to  her  wailing  cry.  "What  right  had  this  girl 
to  supplant  her  ?  Had  she  been  all  sufficient  to  Martin, 
and  had  he  forgotten  Beryl,  to  whom  he  had  given  his 
heart  and  hand  ?  For  the  first  time  in  years  a  revulsion 
of  feeling  swept  upon  her.  She  had  been  a  fool  to 
believe  that  Martin  had  remembered  her.  He  cared  only 
for  Nance,  and  his  first  love  had  grown  cold.  Years 
of  separation  had  done  it,  and  what  vain  fancy  had  led 
her  to  imagine  that  he  still  cared  for  her?  She  saw 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS        297 

it  now  as  never  before.  She  must  get  away  from,  the 
place.  But  where  should  she  go,  with  the  rivers  frozen 
and  the  land  snow-locked  on  every  side? 

Those  few  moments  had  wrought  a  marvellous  trans- 
formation in  Nurse  Marion's  face.  It  was  calm — ter- 
ribly calm — when  at  last  she  went  back  to  Martin 's  side. 
She  was  the  professional  nurse  now,  ready  to  do  her 
duty  to  the  utmost,  but  no  more.  She  had  other  pa- 
tients in  the  hospital  to  care  for,  and  she  busied  herself 
with  them  during  most  of  the  day.  She  had  little  to 
say  to  the  watchers  by  Martin's  side,  and  they,  occupied 
with  their  deep  anxiety,  did  not  notice  her  unusual 
silence.  Then,  when  all  her  other  tasks  were  done,  she 
sat  with  Nance  and  Dick  through  the  long  hours  of  the 
night.  She  had  to  be  doing  something,  so  she  brought 
her  needle-work,  and  though  her  fingers  were  busy,  and 
at  times  her  head  drooped,  she  hardly  realised  what  she 
was  doing. 

Since  he  had  been  brought  into  the  hospital  Martin 
had  not  shown  the  least  sign  of  consciousness.  He  had 
lain  as  one  in  a  deep  sleep.  But  as  the  night  wore 
away,  and  the  dawn  of  a  new  day  was  breaking  he  be- 
gan to  move,  and  then  to  toss  restlessly  upon  the  cot.  At 
last  he  opened  his  eyes  and  stared  vacantly  around  the 
room. 

' '  Tim !  Tim ! "  he  called.  ' '  Are  you  cold  ?  Here 's  my 
jacket.  It'll  keep  you  warm." 

His  eyes  next  roved  to  the  watchers  near  by  until 
they  rested  upon  the  nurse 's  face.  He  did  not  seem 
at  all  surprised  to  see  her  there. 

"Beryl." 

At   that   word   the   needle-work   dropped   from  the 


298  IF  ANT  MAN  SIN 

nurse's  hand,  her  face  went  white  as  death,  though 
she  uttered  not  a  sound. 

"Are  the  hymns  all  ready,  Beryl?"  Martin  continued. 
"It's  almost  church  time,  and  I  can't  wait  any  longer." 

"He  thinks  you  are  Beryl,"  Nance  whispered.  But 
the  nurse  made  no  reply.  She  sat  erect,  rigid,  with 
staring  eyes  fixed  full  upon  the  man  before  her. 

A  troubled  expression  now  came  into  Martin's  eyes, 
and  his  fingers  moved  over  the  blanket  as  if  in  search 
of  something.  "I  can't  find  them,"  he  murmured. 
' '  The  bread — the  wine — some  one  has  hidden  them.  Ah, 
ah,  here  they  are,"  and  his  fingers  closed  eagerly  upon 
some  imaginary  objects.  Then  a  semblance  of  a  smile 
flickered  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  his  voice 
was  low  and  reverent  as  his  lips  moved — "Take — and 
eat — this — in  remembrance — that  Christ — died — for 
thee — and  feed — on  Him " 

His  voice  trailed  off  into  silence,  and  for  a  while  he 
lay  very  still.  "Ah,  ah!"  he  cried,  starting  suddenly 
up,  while  a  fierce  light  glowed  in  his  eyes,  ' '  I  defy  you ! 
The  Church  is  nothing  to  me,  and  I  will  live  without  it ! 
Get  out  of  my  house,  you  impostor,"  he  roared,  looking 
now  at  Dick.  "You  come  here  to  steal  Nance  from 
me!  But  you  won't  get  her!  No,  by  heavens!  she  shall 
never  be  yours!  The  Church!  The  Church!  I  don't 
<;are  for  the  Church!  It  has  cast  me  out.  I  will  live 
without  it!  Get  out,  I  say.  Don't  torture  me!  For 
God's  sake,  go!" 

To  say  that  the  missionary  was  surprised  at  the  re- 
marks of  this  raving  man  is  putting  it  too  mildly.  He 
was  astounded.  What  could  be  the  meaning  of  it  all? 
he  asked  himself.  !Why  did  he  refer  to  the  hymns,  re- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS        299 

peat  those  words  of  the  Communion  Service,  and  speak 
so  fiercely  about  the  Church  ?  Was  it  possible  that  this 
man  had  once  been  a  clergyman!  The  idea  came  to 
him  now  with  a  startling  intensity.  In  an  instant  there 
flashed  into  his  mind  Martin's  peculiar  actions  ever  since 
he  had  known  him,  his  strange  behaviour  and  fitful 
moods.  Was  this  the  reason,  then,  why  this  educated 
man  had  lived  for  long  years  in  the  wilderness?  Had 
he  been  deposed  by  the  Church  in  which  he  had  once 
been  a  clergyman?  Dick  knew  now  that  such  must 
have  been  the  case,  and  a  feeling  such  as  he  had  never 
before  experienced  came  upon  him.  He  sank  into  the 
chair  he  had  recently  vacated,  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands.  He  had  at  times  heard  of  men  who  had  left 
the  Ministry  through  some  misdemeanour,  but  never 
until  now  did  he  understand  what  it  really*  meant.  As 
he  listened  to  Martin's  ravings  he  comprehended  some- 
thing of  the  agony  of  mind  which  had  been  his  through 
his  long  wilderness  life. 

And  thus  the  three  sat,  watched,  and  waited,  as  the 
unconscious  man  tossed  upon  the  cot.  There  was  lit- 
tle that  they  could  do  except  think.  The  missionary 
understood  a  little  now  of  the  past  history  of  the  man 
before  him,  while  Nance  knew  more.  But  neither  re- 
alised that  Nurse  Marion,  sitting  near  with  hands  tightly 
clasped  upon  her  lap,  knew  all,  and  yet  remained  silent. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

EEFINED   GOLD 

FOR  days  the  raging  fever  held  Martin  in  its  ter- 
rible grip.  Never  once  was  he  conscious  of  his 
surroundings,  and  most  trying  was  it  for  the  patient 
watchers  to  listen  to  his  wild  ravings.  Every  night 
Tom  came  to  the  hospital  to  take  his  turn  by  the  side  of 
the  sick  man.  In  fact,  he  would  have  remained  part 
of  each  day  as  well  if  he  had  been  permitted  to  do  so, 
and  he  always  grumbled  when  he  was  ordered  by  Dick 
to  go  and  get  some  sleep.  Nurse  Marion  sat  at  times 
with  Tom.  She  found  it  difficult  to  rest,  as  she  did  not 
know  at  what  moment  Martin  might  need  more  help 
than  the  miner  could  give. 

One  day  she  was  sitting  alone  by  the  bed,  with  her 
needle-work,  as  usual,  in  her  hands.  The  sufferer  was 
still,  and  to  all  appearance  asleep.  Sounds  of  the  violin 
came  from  the  outer  room,  where  Nance  was  playing 
softly  for  the  benefit  of  the  few  patients  who  were 
there.  The  strains  brought  a  restful  feeling  into  the 
nurse 's  heart,  for  it  had  been  weeks  since  she  had  heard 
the  sound  of  music.  Presently  her  work  dropped  into 
her  lap,  and  her  hands  remained  idle.  Her  eyes  gazed 
off  through  the  window  before  her,  though  she  saw 
nothing. 

300 


REFINED  GOLD  301 

She  was  startled  from  her  reverie  by  a  light  touch 
upon  her  hand.  Glancing  down,  great  was  her  sur- 
prise to  see  Martin  looking  intently  into  her  face.  In 
his  eyes  was  the  light  of  reason,  mingled  with  sur- 
prise. The  nurse  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant,  bending 
over  the  cot. 

' '  Hush, ' '  she  soothed,  as  if  Martin  were  a  child  awak- 
ing from  sleep.  ''Don't  speak  now." 

' '  I  must, ' '  Martin  feebly  breathed.  ' '  Are  you  Beryl  ? 
I  woke,  and  thought  I  was  dreaming,  and  so  I  touched 
your  hand  to  be  sure." 

"Yes,  I  am  Beryl,"  was  the  reply.  "But  you  must 
not  talk  any  more.  You  are  very  weak." 

"With  a  deep  sigh,  whether  of  regret  or  contentment 
the  nurse  could  not  tell,  Martin  closed  his  eyes,  and 
in  a  few  moments  passed  into  a  restful  and  a  natural 
sleep.  Nurse  Marion  stood  very  still  for  a  while  watch- 
ing him.  Just  what  her  thoughts  were  she  alone  knew, 
but  her  eyes  were  moist  as  she  presently  turned  and 
walked  softly  into  the  large  ward  outside. 

As  the  days  passed  Martin  rapidly  improved,  and 
at  length  he  was  able  to  sit  up.  The  miners  came  often 
to  see  him,  for  they  all  held  him  in  high  regard  for 
what  he  had  done  for  Tim.  But  Martin  was  never  so 
happy  as  when  Beryl  was  in  the  room.  Neither  had  once 
mentioned  the  days  years  ago,  and  to  outward  eyes 
they  were  friends  and  nothing  more.  But  little  did 
people  realise  what  was  taking  place  in  the  hearts  of 
both  patient  and  nurse  alike.  Beryl  was  ever  on  her 
guard  lest  she  should  let  slip  the  slightest  word  which 
might  betray  her  inmost  feelings.  The  bitterness  of  that 
day  when  Nance  had  first  knelt  by  the  cot  had  passed 


302  IF  'ANY  MAN  SIN 

away.  But  she  did  not  know  what  Martin  thought  of 
her,  though  at  times  she  found  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
in  a  puzzled  way. 

Martin,  in  fact,  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  Beryl's 
quiet  constrained  manner.  If  she  had  expressed  sur- 
prise, or  even  upbraided  him,  he  could  have  understood 
it.  But  she  never  alluded  to  the  past.  She  waited 
upon  him,  and  talked  about  ordinary  things,  but  that 
was  all.  This  estrangement  was  hard  for  him  to  en- 
dure. He  began  to  feel  that  she  no  longer  cared  for 
him.  She  knew  what  he  had  done,  and  so  was  deter- 
mined to  treat  him  as  any  other  patient.  Such  was  the 
situation  between  the  two.  Each  believed  that  the 
other  did  not  care,  and  so  both  made  every  effort  not 
to  reveal  the  real  feelings  enshrined  within  their  hearts. 

One  bright  afternoon  Nance  and  Dick  crossed  over 
the  river  to  the  lonely  house  to  bring  back  some  books 
for  the  Reading  Room.  Beryl  watched  them  as  they 
sped  down  to  the  river  on  their  show-shoes — for  there 
was  no  path  in  the  deep  snow.  A  sigh  escaped  her  lips 
as  she  saw  how  happy  they  were.  Laughingly  they 
waved  their  hands  to  her  as  they  reached  the  river,  and 
saw  her  still  at  the  window.  What  perfect  understand- 
ing there  is  between  them,  she  mused.  Could  any  two 
people  be  more  suited  to  each  other  than  they? 

She  remained  gazing  after  them  for  a  while,  and  then 
went  into  the  room  where  Martin  was  sitting.  She 
found  him  near  the  window  facing  the  river.  His  eyes 
were  filled  with  an  inexpressible  sadness  as  they  fol- 
lowed Nance  and  Dick  until  they  reached  the  log  build- 
ing beyond.  Beryl  stood  watching  him  for  a  few  heart 
beats,  and  then  moved  softly  to  his  side.  But  Martin 


EEFINED  GOLD  303 

did  not  look  up.  Instead,  his  whole  body  drooped,  his 
head  bent  forward,  and  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands 
as  if  trying  to  shut  out  something  from  his  view. 

"What  is  it?"  Beryl  asked,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with 
emotion.  "Are  you  not  feeling  well?  Is  there  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you  ? ' ' 

"Beryl,"  and  Martin  lifted  his  face,  which  was  now 
drawn  and  haggard. 

"Yes — Martin,"  was  the  faint  reply. 

"Sit  down,  Beryl.    There,  that's  better." 

A  deep  silence  now  reigned  in  the  room.  Martin's 
gaze  wandered  out  through  the  window,  but  the  nurse 
saw  nothing.  Neither  did  she  hear  anything,  except 
the  wild  beating  of  her  own  heart.  She  longed  to  do 
something  to  comfort  the  visibly  distressed  man  nearby. 
But  she  felt  powerless,  and  no  words  could  she  utter. 

"Why  must  I  suffer  like  this,  Beryl?"  burst  at  last 
from  Martin's  lips.  "There,  there!"  he  cried,  lifting 
a  thin  warning  hand.  "Don't  speak  until  I  am  through. 
I  know  why  I  suffer.  It's  just,  and  what  else  could 
I  expect.  But,  my  God!  is  there  to  be  no  end!  Is 
this  suffering  of  mind — this  hell,  never  to  cease!  Why 
did  they  not  let  me  die  out  there  in  the  snow!" 

"Hush,  hush!  Martin,"  and  Beryl  rose  to  her  feet, 
and  laid  her  hand  lightly  upon  his  shoulder.  "Don't 
talk  that  way!  I  can't  stand  it!" 

"I  must  talk.  Don't  try  to  stop  me.  Did  you  see 
them  going  over  the  river?"  he  asked.  "How  happy 
they  are.  I  am  nothing  to  Nance  now.  Dick  is  every- 
thing, and  I  am  only  in  the  way.  What  have  I  to  live 
for?" 

These  words  caused  Beryl  to  straighten  up  suddenly. 


304  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

The  trembling  emotion  which  had  possessed  her  de- 
parted, leaving  her  very  white  and  calm.  Then  it  was 
Nance  he  alone  cared  for,  she  told  herself.  Of  her 
only  he  thought.  Yes,  she  knew  now,  and  why  had  she 
expected  anything  else? 

"Beryl,"  Martin  continued,  after  a  pause,  "do  you 
see  how  happy  they  are  ?  They  are  everything  to  each 
other.  \Ve,  too,  might  have  been  as  happy — but — but 

for  my How  can  you  look  at  me,  or  speak  to  me, 

Beryl?  You  know  what  I  did,  and  what  an  outcast  I 
am  to-day  from  God  and  the  Church.  Is  there  any 
one  in  the  whole  world  so  vile  as  I  ? " 

"But  you  have  atoned  for  the  past,"  Beryl  soothed. 
"Think  of  what  you  have  done." 

"Done!  Done!  Good  Lord!  what  have  I  done  that 
can  ever  merit  forgiveness  from  an  avenging  God  ?  Is 
there  any  pardon  for  one  who  disgraced  his  sacred  of- 
fice, broke  his  parents'  hearts,  and  denounced  his 
Church  ?  Men  may  talk  lightly  of  sin.  But  they  know 
not  what  they  are  saying,  nor  its  terrible  consequences. 
Nothing  can  wipe  out  such  a  stain  as  mine,  which  is 
so  great.  There  is  murder  on  my  hands ! ' ' 

"The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  us  from  all 
sin,"  Beryl  gently  quoted,  with  tears  now  streaming 
down  her  cheeks.  * '  Don 't  you,  oh,  don 't  you  believe  it  ? " 

"I  believe  it,  but  I  don't  feel  it.  It  doesn't  give  me 
peace.  What  can  wash  away  my  sins,  which  are  so 
great?" 

"  'If  any  man  sin  we  have  an  advocate  with  the 
Father,  Jesus  Christ,  the  righteous,  and  He  is  the  pro- 
pitiation for  our  sins, '  ' '  Beryl  once  more  quoted. 

"Ah,    ah,"    and  Martin    slightly    raised    his    head. 


EEFINED  GOLD  305 

"There  is  comfort  in  those  words.  'If  any  man  sin/ 
and  'Jesus'  blood  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin,'  Beryl," 
and  he  now  looked  up  full  into  her  face.  "You  know 
how  great  are  my  sins,  do  you  really  think  that  they 
can  ever  be  forgiven?" 

Beryl  at  once  leaned  forward  and  caught  his  right 
hand  in  hers.  ' '  Martin, ' '  she  cried,  ' '  I  forgave  you  long 
ago,  and  will  not  He,  whose  love  and  mercy  are  so  great, 
be  more  ready  to  forgive?" 

Into  Martin's  eyes  came  an  expression  of  surprise, 
mingled  with  hope. 

"Do  you  mean  it,  Beryl?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice 
scarcely  above  a  whisper.  "That  you  forgive  me!  I 
can't  believe  it!" 

"Yes,  yes;  it's  true.  I  forgave  you  long  ago.  Even 
when  every  one  denounced  you  I  still  believed  in  you." 

"Is  it  possible!  Is  it  possible!"  and  Martin  gazed 
absently  out  of  the  window.  "What  reason  had  you 
to  forgive  me?" 

"Perhaps  there  was  none,"  Beryl  gently  replied. 
"When  a  woman  loves  she  doesn't  seek  for  a  reason; 
she  never  thinks  of  it.  True  love  is  of  the  heart,  and 
not  of  the  head." 

"And  I  believed  that  you  had  forgotten!"  Martin 
murmured. 

"So  you  thought  of  me — sometimes,  then?"  Beryl 
questioned. 

"Thought  of  you!"  Martin  passionately  cried,  seiz- 
ing both  of  her  hands  in  his.  "Day  and  night  during 
those  long  terrible  years  you  were  never  out  of  my 
mind.  But  for  the  thought  of  you  I  would  not  be  here 
to-day." 


306 

He  paused  suddenly,  and  the  woman  standing  by  his 
side  could  feel  his  form  tremble  as  if  shaken  by  some 
violent  emotion. 

"Beryl,"  came  at  last  low  and  tense  from  his  lips, 
"is  it  too  late?  You  know  what  I  mean.  Do  you  care 
enough  for  me  to — to " 

"To  take  up  life  where  we  laid  it  down  years  ago? 
Is  that  what  you  mean?" 

"Yes,  that's  it,  Beryl.     Oh,  can  we?" 

"What  is  there  to  hinder?"  was  the  quiet  response. 
"Why  should  we  be  separated  any  longer  when  we  mean 
so  much  to  each  other?" 

The  only  reply  Martin  made  was  to  reach  out  and 
enfold  Beryl  in  his  arms  as  she  sank  into  the  chair  by 
his  side.  Her  face  was  close  to  his,  and  their  lips  met. 
At  last  the  struggle,  doubt,  and  uncertainty  were  ended. 
A  peace  such  as  they  had  not  known  for  years  came 
into  their  hearts.  Their  lives,  like  two  turbulent  streams 
long  parted,  were  at  last  reunited,  to  flow  on  as  one, 
strong  and  deep. 

For  over  an  hour  they  sat  and  talked  about  the  fu- 
ture. Time  was  as  nothing  to  them  now,  and  they  were 
surprised  when  the  door  opened  and  Nance  and  Dick 
entered.  Beryl  rose  instantly  to  her  feet,  while  a  flush 
mantled  her  cheeks  and  brow.  But  Nance  did  not  notice 
her  agitation,  so  engrossed  was  she  with  her  own  af- 
fairs. Hurrying  across  the  room,  she  threw  her  arms 
about  the  nurse's  neck,  and  gave  her  an  affectionate 
kiss.  She  then  knelt  by  Martin's  side,  and  looked  up 
into  his  face. 

"Daddy,  oh,  daddy!"  she  cried,  "I  am  so  happy! 


REFINED  GOLD  307 

Then  words  failed  her,  and  she  hid  her  blushing  face 
in  her  hands. 

Dick,  who  had  been  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  now  came  forward,  and  stood  before  Martin. 
"May  I  have  her?"  he  simply  asked.  "Nance  has 
promised  to  be  my  wife  if  you  will  give  your  consent. ' ' 

For  a  few  heart  beats  there  was  a  tense  silence, 
while  Martin  sat  gazing  off  into  space.  He  was  think- 
ing of  the  past,  and  of  a  little  child  he  had  rescued  from 
the  Indians  on  the  bank  of  the  Mackenzie  River  years 
before.  Presently  his  eyes  sought  those  of  the  young 
man  before  him. 

"Do  you  know  that  Nance  is  not  my  child?"  he 
asked  in  a  hesitating  voice.  "I  do  not  even  know  her 
parents'  names." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Dick  replied.  "But  that  doesn't 
make  any  difference." 

"If  you  had  asked  me  for  Nance  a  month,  nay,  even 
an  hour  ago,"  Martin  continued,  "I  should  have  re- 
fused you.  She  was  all  I  had  in  the  world.  But  now 
it  is  different.  You  may  have  her,  for  I  have  one  to 
take  her  place.  I  have  found  my  Beryl.  She  has  come 
back  to  me." 

At  these  words  Nance  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  looked 
eagerly  and  curiously  around  the  room.  Seeing  only  the 
nurse  standing  there  with  a  happy  smile  upon  her  face, 
she  was  much  puzzled,  and  turned  to  Martin  for  an  ex- 
planation. 

"Oh,  daddy!"  she  exclaimed,  "how  you  startled  me! 
"What  did  you  mean  by  saying  that  Beryl  had  come 
back?" 


308  IF  ANY  MAN  SIN 

"And  so  she  has,  dear.  This  is  my  long  lost  Beryl 
you  see  before  you." 

For  an  instant  only  Nance  stood  there,  her  eyes  filled 
with  wonder.  Then  they  brightened,  with  complete  un- 
derstanding, and  with  a  glad  cry  she  sprang  toward 
the  nurse,  who  caught  her  in  her  arms,  and  showered 
kisses  upon  the  fair,  fresh  face  turned  up  to  hers. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  all  was  ex- 
citement within  that  little  room.  There  was  so  much 
to  talk  aOout  that  it  was  supper  time  before  they  were 
half  through.  While  Beryl  and  Nance  were  preparing 
the  simple  repast  the  two  men  discussed  plans  for  the 
future. 

"You  must  stay  right  here,"  Dick  told  Martin.  "We 
can  work  so  much  better  together. ' ' 

"But  only  as  a  helper,"  was  the  low  reply.  "Ke- 
member  I  am  an  outcast,  and " 

"Hush,"  Dick  interrupted,  "don't  speak  of  that 
again.  Let  the  past  be  buried  forever." 

Scarcely  had  the  four  sat  down  to  supper  ere  a  knock 
sounded  upon  the  door.  When  it  was  opened  Tom  and 
Old  Dad  entered.  They  were  given  a  hearty  welcome, 
and  room  was  made  for  them  at  the  table.  Soon  the 
whole  story  was  told,  and  nothing  would  do  the  visitors 
but  they  must  rise  and  grasp  the  hands  of  the  happy 
couples,  and  wish  them  much  joy.  Tom  was  so  ex- 
cited that  he  could  eat  but  little,  and  for  once  his  tongue 
seemed  tied.  When  the  meal  was  ended  he  pushed  back 
from  the  table,  and  ran  his  fingers  thoughtfully  through 
his  hair. 

"If  I  only  had  a  smoke,"  he  remarked,  "it  'ud  cer- 
tainly relieve  my  feelin's." 


KEFINED  GOLD  309 

"Smoke  to  your  heart's  content,"  Beryl  laughingly 
replied. 

"What!    Here?" 

"Yes.    Make  yourself  perfectly  at  home." 

"I  guess  a  game  of  chess  would  relieve  my  feelin's," 
and  Dad  looked  eagerly  into  Nance's  face  as  he  spoke. 
"D'ye  feel  equal  fer  the  battle  after  all  this  excite- 
ment?" 

"Why,  yes,"  was  the  cheerful  response.  "Just  as 
soon  as  these  dishes  are  washed  we  shall  have  a  game." 

What  an  evening  that  was  on  the  hank  of  the  Quaska 
River  in  that  room  in  the  hospital.  Happiness  reigned 
supreme,  for  the  black  clouds  had  all  disappeared. 
When  the  game  was  ended  they  talked  about  the  visit 
which  would  be  made  next  summer  to  the  great  world 
outside  of  which  Nance  had  heard  so  much,  but  had 
never  seen.  Then  the  two  newly-wedded  couples  would 
return  to  carry  on  the  work  in  the  place  which  was  so 
dear  to  their  hearts. 

"An'  we'll  be  here  to  give  yez  a  house-warmin', 
hey,  Dad?"  Tom  exclaimed,  with  joy  depicted  upon  his 
honest,  rugged  face. 

"Sure  thing,"  was  the  reply.  "An'  mebbe  ye '11  git 
a  few  new  wrinkles  at  chess,"  he  slyly  added,  turning 
to  Nance,  at  which  they  all  laughed. 

Then  just  before  they  parted  for  the  night,  Martin 
asked  for  his  violin.  Nance  brought  hers,  too,  and  to- 
gether they  played,  the  first  time  in  months.  There 
were  no  sad  wailing  notes  now,  but  only  such  music 
as  wells  freely  from  hearts  full  of  love,  gratitude,  and 
happiness. 

THE  END 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

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THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 

A  New  York  society  girl  buys  a  ranch  which  becomes  the  center  of  frontier  war- 
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surprising  climax  brings  the  story  to  a  delightful  close. 

THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 

The  story  of  a  young  clergyman  who  becomes  a  wanderer  in  the  great  western 
uplands— until  at  last  love  and  faith  awake. 

DESERT  GOLD 

The  storydescribes  the  recent  uprising  along  the  border,  and  ends  with  the  finding* 
of  the  gold  which  two  prospectors  had  willed  to  the  girl  who  is  the  story's  heroine. 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 

A  picturesque  romance  of  Utah  of  some  forty  years  ago  when  Mormon  authority 
ruled.  The  prosecution  of  Jane  Withersteen  is  the  theme  of  the  story. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 

This  is  the  record  of  a  trip  which  the  author  took  with  Buffalo  Jones,  known  as  the 
preserver  of  the  American  bison,  across  the  Arizona  desert  and  of  a  hunt  in  "that 
wonderful  country  of  deep  canons  and  giant  pines." 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 

A  lovely  girl,  who  has  been  reared  among  Mormons,  learns  to  love  a  young  New 
Englander.  The  Mormon  religion,  however,  demands  that  the  girl  shall  become 
the  second  wife  of  one  of  the  Mormons— Well,  that's  the  problem  of  this  great  story- 

THE  SHORT  STOP 

The  young  hero,  tiring  of  his  factory  grind,  starts  out  to  win  fame  and  fortune  aa 
•  professional  ball  player.  His  hard  knocks  at  the  start  are  followed  by  such  success 
as  clean  sportsmanship,  courage  and  honesty  ought  to  win. 

BETTY  ZANE 

This  story  tells  of  the  bravery  and  heroism  of  Betty,  the  beautiful  young  sister  of 
old  Colonel  Zane,  one  of  the  bravest  pioneers. 

THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

After  killing  a  man  in  self  defense,  Buck  Duane  becomes  an  outlaw  along  the 
Texas  border.  In  a  camp  on  the  Mexican  side  of  the  river,  he  finds  a  young  girl  held 
prisoner,  and  in  attempting  to  rescue  her,  brings  down  upon  himself  the  wrath  of  her 
captors  and  henceforth  is  hunted  on  one  side  by  honest  men,  on  the  other  by  outlaws. 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 

Joan  Randie,  in  a  spirit  of  anger,  sent  Jim  Cleve  out  to  a  lawless  Western  mining 
ramp,  to  prove  his  mettle.  Then  realizing  that  she  loved  him — she  followed  him  out. 
On  her  way,  she  is  captured  by  a  bandit  band,  and  trouble  begins  when  she  shoot* 
Kells,  the  leader — and  nurses  him  to  health  again.  Here  enters  another  romance— 
-vhen  Joan,  disguised  as  an  outlaw,  observes  Jim,  in  the  throes  of  dissipation.  A  gold 
strike,  a  thrilling  robbery— gambling  and  gun  play  carry  you  along  breathlessly. 

,T.HE   LAST  OF  THE  GREAT  SCOUTS. 

By  Helen  Cody  Wetmore  and  Zane  Grey 

The  life  story  of  Colonel  William  F.  Cody,  "  Buffalo  Bill."  as  told  by  his  sister  and 
Zane  Grey.  It  begins  with  his  boyhood  in  Iowa  and  his  first  encounter  with  an  In- 
dian. We  see  "Bill"  as  a  pony  express  rider,  then  near  Fort  Sumter  as  Chief  of 
the  Scouts,_and  later  engaged  in  the  most  dangerous  Indian  campaigns.  There  is 
ilso  a  very  interesting  account  of  the  travels  of  "The  Wild  West"  Show.  No  char- 
acter In  public  life  makes  a  stronger  appeal  to  the  imagination  of  America  than 
"  Buffalo  Bill,"  whose  daring  and  bravery  made  him  famous. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


NOVELS  OF  FRONTIER  LIFE  BY 

WILLIAM  MacLEOD    RAINE 

HANDSOMELY  BOUND  IN  CLOTH.     ILLUSTRATED. 
May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dunlap's  list 

MAVERICKS. 

A  tale  of  the  western  frontier,  where  the  "rustler,"  whose  dep  g 
redations  are  so  keenly  resented  by  the  early  settlers  of  the  range 
abounds.    One  of  the  sweetest  love  stories  ever  told., 

A  TEXAS  RANGER. 

How  a  member  of  the  most  dauntless  border  police  force  carried 
law  into  the  mesquit,  saved  the  life  of  an  innocent  man  after  a  series 
of  thrilling  adventures,  followed  a  fugitive  to  Wyoming,  and  then 
passed  through  deadly  peril  to  ultimate  happiness. 

WYOMING. 

In  this  vivid  story  of  the  outdoor  West  the  author  has  captured 
the  breezy  charm  of  "cattleland,"  and  brings  out  the  ttirbid  life  of 
the  frontier  with  all  its  engaging  dash  and  vigor. 

RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  the  mining  centers  of  Montana,  where  poll- 
tics  and  mining  industries  are  the  religion  of  the  country.  The 
political  contest,  the  love  scene,  and  the  fine  chcU~acter  drawing  give 
this  story  great  strength  and  charm. 

BUCKY  O'CONNOR. 

Every  chapter  teems  with  'wholesome,  stirring'  adventures,  re- 
plete with  the  dashing  spirit  of  the  border,  told  with  dramatic  dash 
and  absorbing  fascination  oi  style  and  plot. 

CROOKED  TRAILS  AND  STRAIGHT. 

A  story  of  Arizona;  of  swift-riding  men  and  daring  outlaws;  of 
i  bitter  feud  between  cattle-men  and  sheep-herders.  Thtj  heroine 
s  a  most  unusual  woman  and  her  love  story  reaches  a  culmination' 
chat  is  fittingly  characteristic  of  the  great  free  West. 

BRAND  BLOTTERS. 

~— % 

A  story  of  the  Cattle  Range.  This  story  brings  out  the  turbia 
life  of  the  frontier,  with  all  its  engaging  dash  and  vigor,  with  a  charm- 
ing love  interest  running  through  its  320  pages. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,     PUBLISHERS,      NEW  YORK 


STORIES  OF  RARE  CHARM  BY 

GENE   STRATTQN-PORTER 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ash  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

MICHAEL  O'HALLORAN.      Illustrated  by  Frances  Rogers. 

Michael  is  a  quick-witted  little  Irish  newsboy,  living  in  Northern 
Indiana.     He  adopts  a  deserted  little  girl,  a  cripple.     He  also  as- 
sumes the  responsibility  of  leading  the  entire  rural  community  up- 
ward and  onward, 
LADDIE.      Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

This  is  a  bright,  cheery  tale  with  the  scenes  laid  in  Indiana.  The 
story  is  told  by  Little  Sister,  the  youngest  member  of  a  large  family, 
but  it  is  concerned  not  so  much  with  childish  doings  as  with  the  love 
affairs  of  older  members  of  the  family.  Chief  among  them  is  that 
of  Laddie  and  the  Princess,  an  English  girl  who  has  come  to  live  in 
the  neighborhood  and  about  whose  family  there  hangs  a  mystery. 
THE  HARVESTER.  Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs. 

"The  Harvester,"  is  a  man  of  the  woods  and  fields,  and  if  the 
book  had  nothing  in  it  but  the  splendid  figure  of  this  man  it  would 
be  notable.     But  when  the  Girl  comes  to  his  "Medicine  Woods," 
there  begins  a  romance  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 
FRECKLES.      Illustrated. 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life  ;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
great  Limberlost  Swamp  ;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
him  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality  ;  and  his 
love-story  with  ''  The  Angel  "  are  full  of  real  sentiment, 
A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST.  Illustrated. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods;  a  buoyant,  loveable 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
kindness  towards  all  things  ;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by 
the  sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage. 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW.  Illustrations  in  colors. 

The  scene  of  this  charming  love  story  is  laid  in  Central  Indiana. 
The   story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self-sacrificing 
love.     The  novel  is  brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of 
nature,  and  its  pathos  and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  alL 
THE  SONG  OF  THE  CARDINAL.      Profusely  illustrated. 

A  love  ideal  of  the  Cardinal  bird  and  his  mate,  told  with  delicacy 
and  humor. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


JACK    LONDON'S    NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  A  Ounlap's  list 

JOHN  BARLEYCORN.    Illustrated  by  H.  T.  Dunn. 

This  remarkable  book  is  a  record  of  the  author's  own  amazing 
experiences.  This  big,  brawny  world  rover,  who  has  been  ac- 
quainted with  alcohol  from  boyhood,  comes  out  boldly  against  John 
Barleycorn.  It  is  a  string  of  exciting  adventures,  yet  it  forcefully 
conveys  an  unforgetable  idea  and  makes  a  typical  Jack  London  book. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MOON.    Frontispiece  by  George  Harper 

The  story  opens  in  the  city  slumu  where  Billy  Roberts,  teamstet 
and  ex-prize  fighter,  and  Saxon  Brown,  laundry  worker,  meet  and 
love  and  marry.  They  tramp  from  one  end  of  California  to  the 
other,  and  in  the  Valley  of  the  Moon  find  the  farm  paradise  that  is 
to  be  their  salvation. 

BURNING  DAYLIGHT.    Four  illustrations. 

The  story  ot  an  adventurer  who  went  to  Alaska  and  laid  the 
foundations  of  his  fortune  before  the  gold  hunters  arrived.  Bringing 
his  fortunes  to  the  States  he  is  cheated  out  of  it  by  a  crowd  of  money 
kings,  and  recovers  it  only  at  the  muzzle  of  his  gun.  He  'hen  starts 
out  as  a  merciless  exploiter  on  his  own  account.  Finally  he  takes  to 
drinking  and  becomes  a  picture  of  degeneration.  About  this  tima 
he  falls  in  love  with  his  stenographer  and  wins  her  heart  but  not 
her  hand  and  then — but  read  the  storyl 

A  SON  OF  TH  u,  SUN.  Illustrated  by  A.  O.  Fischer  and  C.W.  Ashley. 

David  Gri^f  was  once  a  light-haired,  blue-eyed  youth  whc  ?ama 
from  England  to  the  South  Seas  in  search  of  adventure.  Tanned 
like  a  native  and  as  lithe  as  a  tiger,  he  became  a  real  son  of  the  sun. 
The  life  appealed  to  him  and  he  remained  and  became  very  wealthy. 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  WILD.  Illustrations  by  Philip  R.  Goodwin  and 
Charles  Livingston  Bull.    Decorations  by  Charles  E.  Hooper. 
A  book  ot  dog  adventures  as   exciting  as  any  man's  exploits 
could  be.    Here  is  excitement  to  stir  the  blood  and  here  is  pictur- 
esque color  to  transport  the  reader  to  primitive  scenes. 

THE  SEA  WOLF.    Illustrated  by  W.  J.  Aylward. 

Told  by  a  man  whom  Fate  suddenly  swings  from  his  fastidious 
life  into  the  power  of  the  brutal  captain  of  a  sealing  schooner.  A 
novel  of  adventure  warmed  by  a  beautiful  love  episode  that  every 
reader  will  hail  with  delight. 

WHITE  FANG.    Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

"White  Fang"  is  part  dog,  part  wolf  and  all  brute,  living  in  the 
frozen  north ;  he  gradually  comes  under  the  spell  of  man's  com- 
panionship,  and  surrenders  all  at  the  last  in  a  fight  with  a  bull  dog. 
Thereafter  he  is  man's  loving  slave. 

GROSSET   &    DUNLAP,  PUBLISHERS',    NEW   YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

WINSTON  CHURCHILL 

THE  INSIDE  OF  THE  CUP.    Illustrated  by  Howard  Giles. 

The  Reverend  John  Hodder  is  called  to  a  fashionable  church  in 
a  middle-western  city.  He  knows  little  of  modern  problems  and  in 
his  theology  is  as  orthodox  as  the  rich  men  who  control  his  church 
could  desire.  But  the  facts  of  modern  life  are  thrust  upon  him;  an 
awakening  follows  and  in  the  end  he  works  out  a  solution. 
A  FAR  COUNTRY.  Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

This  novel  is  concerned  with  big  problems  of  the  day.    As  The 
Inside  oj  the  Cup  gets  down  to  the  essentials  in  its  discussion  of  re- 
ligion, so  A  Far  Country  deals  in  a  story  that  is  intense  and  dra- 
matic, with  other  vital  issues  confronting  the  twentieth  century. 
A  MODERN  CHRONICLE.    Illustrated  by  J.  H.  Gardner  Soper. 

This,  Mr.   Churchill's  first  great  presentation  of  the  Eternal 
Feminine,  is  throughout  a  profound  study  of  a  fascinating  young 
American  woman.    It  is  frankly  a  modern  love  story. 
MR.  CREWE'S  CAREER.     Illus.  by  A.  I.  Keller  and  Kinneys. 

A  new  England  state  is  under  the  political  domination  of  a  rail- 
way and  Mr.  Crewe,  a  millionaire,  seizes  a  moment  when  the  cause 
of  the  people  is  being  espoused  by  an  ardent  young  attorney,  to  fur- 
ther his  own  interest  in  a  political  way.  The  daughter  of  the  rail- 
way president  plays  no  small  part  in  the  situation. 
THE  CROSSING.  Illustrated  by  S.  Adamson  and  L.  Baylis. 

Describing  the  battle  of  Fort  Moultrie,  the  blazing  of  the  Ken- 
tucky wilderness,  the  expedition  of  Clark  and  his  handful  of  follow- 
ers in  Illinois,  the  beginning  of   civilization  along  the  Ohio  and 
Mississippi,  and  the  treasonable  schemes  against  Washington. 
CONISTON.    Illustrated  by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn. 

A  deft  blending  of  love  and  politics.    A  New  Englander  is  the 
hero,  a  crude  man  who  rose  to  political  prominence  by  his  own  pow- 
ers, and  then  surrendered  all  for  the  love  of  a  woman. 
THE  CELEBRITY.    An  episode. 

An  inimitable  bit  of  comedy  describing  an  interchange  of  per- 
sonalities between  a  celebrated  author  and  a  bicycle  salesman.    It 
is  the  purest,  keenest  fun — and  is  American  to  the  core. 
THE  CRISIS.    Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  Photo-Play. 

A  book  that  presents  the  great  crisis  in  our  national  life  with 
splendid  power  and  with  a  sympathy,  a  sincerity,  and  a  patriotism 
that  are  inspiring. 
RICHARD  CARVEL.    Illustrated  by  Malcolm  Frazer. 

An  historical  novel  which  gives  a  real  and  vivid  picture  of  Co- 
lonial times,  and  is  good,  clean,  spirited  reading  in  all  its  phases  and 
interesting  throughout. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,      PUBLISHERS,     NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

MARY  ROBERTS    RINEHART 

May  ba  had  wharevar  books  are  sold.    Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

"K."     Illustrated. 

K.  LeMoyne,  famous  surgeon,  drops  out  of  the  world  that 
has  known  him,  and  goes  to  live  in  a  little  town  where 
beautiful  Sidney  Page  lives.  She  is  in  training  to  become  a 
nurse.  The  joys  and  troubles  of  their  young  love  are  told ' 
with  that  keen  and  syinoathetic  appreciation  which  has 
made  the  author  famous. 

THE  MAN  IN  LOWER  TEN. 

Illustrated  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

An  absorbing  detective  story  woven  around  the  mysteri- 
ous death  of  the  "Man  in  Lower  Ten."  The  strongest 
elements  of  Mrs.  Rinehart's  success  are  found  in  this  book. 

WHEN  A  MAN  MARRIES. 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher  and  Mayo  Bunker. 

A  young  artist,  whose  wife  had  recently  divorced  him; 
finds  that  his  aunt  is  soon  to  visit  him.  The  aunt,  who 
contributes  to  the  family  income  and  who  has  never  seen 
the  wife,  knows  nothing  of  the  domestic  upneaval.  How 
the  young  man  met  the  situation  is  humorously  and  most 
entertainingly  told. 

THE  CIRCULAR  STAIRCASE.     Illus.  by  Lester  Ralph. 

The  summer  occupants  of  "Sunnyside"  find  the  dead 
body  of  Arnold  Armstrong,  the  son  of  the  owner,  on  the  cir- 
cular staircase.  Following  the  murder  a  bank  failure  is  an- 
nounced. Around  these  two  events  is  woven  a  plot  of 
absorbing  interest. 

THE  STREET  OF  SEVEN  STARS. 
1  Illustrated  (Photo  Play  Edition.) 

Harmony  Wells,  studying  in  Vienna  to  be  a  great  vio- 
linist, suddenly  realizes  that  her  money  is  almost  gone.  She 
meets  a  young  ambitious  doctor  who  offers  her  chivalry  and 
sympathy,  and  together  with  world-worn  Dr.  Anna  and 
Jimmie,  the  waif,  they  share  their  love  and  slender  means. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


BOOTH     TARKINGTON'S 
NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Asklfo-  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

SEVENTEEN.    Illustrated  by  Arthur  William  Brown. 

No  one  but  the  creator  of  Penrod  could  have  portrayed 
the  immortal  young  people  of  this  story.    Its  humor  is  irre- 
,  sistible  and  reminiscent  of  the  tune  when  the  reader  waa 
Seventeen. 

PENROD.    Illustrated  by  Gordon  Grant. 

This  is  a  picture  of  a  boy's  heart,  full  of  the  lovable,  hu- 
morous, tragic  things  which  are  locked  secrets  to  most  older 
folks.  It  is  a  finished,  exquisite  work. 

PENROD  AND  SAM.  Illustrated  by  Worth  Brehm. 

Like  "  Penrod "  and  "  Seventeen,"  this  book  contains 
some  remarkable  phases  of  real  boyhood  and  some  of  the  best 
etories  of  juvenile  prankishness  that  have  ever  been  written. 

THE  TURMOIL.    Illustrated  by  C.  E.  Chambers. 

Bibbs  Sheridan  is  a  dreamy,  imaginative  youth,  who  re- 
volts against  his  father's  plans  for  him  to  be  a  servitor  of 
big  business.  The  love  of  a  fine  girl  turns  Bibb's  life  from 
failure  to  success. 

THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  INDIANA.    Frontispiece. 

A  story  of  love  and  politics, — more  especially  a  picture  of 
a  country  editor's  life  in  Indiana,  but  the  charm  of  the  book 
lies  in  the  love  interest. 

THE  FLIRT.    Illustrated  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 

The  "  Ilirt,"  the  younger  of  two  sisters,  breaks  one  girl's 
engagement,  drives  one  man  to  suicide,  causes  the  murder 
of  another,  leads  another  to  lose  his  fortune,  and  in  the  end 
marries  a  stupid  and  unpromising  suitor,  leaving  the  really 
worthy  one  to  marry  her  sister. 

A»k  for  Complete  free  list  of  G.   &  D.    Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


SEWELL    FORD'S  STORIES 

May  be  had  whtriver  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  A  Dunlap's  list 

SHORTY   McCABE.       Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

A  very  humorous  story,    The  hero,  an  independent  and  vigoroua 
thinker,  sees  life,  and  tells  about  it  in  a  very  unconventional  way. 
SIDE-STEPPING  WITH  SHORTY. 
Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

Twenty  skits,    presenting  people   with  their   foibles.     Sympathy 
with  human  nature  and  an  abounding  sense  of  humor  are  the  requi- 
sites for  "side-stepping  with  Shorty." 
SHORTY   McCABE  ON  THE  JOB. 
Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

Shorty   McCabe  reappears  with  his  figures  of  speech  revamped 
right  up   to    the   minute.       He  aids   in    the  right  distribution  of  4 
"conscience   fund,"    and    gives  joy  to   all   concerned. 
SHORTY  McCABE'S  ODD  NUMBERS. 
Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

These  further  chronicles  of  Shorty  McCabe  tell  of  his  studio  for 
physical  culture,  and  of  his  experiences  both  on  the  East  side  and  at 
swell  yachting  parties. 
TORCHY.      Illus,  by  Geo.  Biehm  and  Jas.  Montgomery  Flagg. 

A   red-headed  office  boy,  overflowing   with  wit  and  wisdom  pe- 
culiar to  the  youths  reared  on  the  sidewalks  of  New  York,  tells  the 
story  of  his  experiences. 
TRYING  OUT  TORCHY.      Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln. 

Torchy  is  just  as  deliriously  funny  in  these  stories  as  he  was  in 
the  previous  book. 

ON  WITH  TORCHY.      Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln. 

Torchy  falls  desperately  in  love  with  "the  only  girl  that  ever 
was,"  but  that  young  society  woman's  aunt  tries  to  keep  the  young 
people  apart,  which  brings  about  many  hilariously  funny  situations. 
TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC.  Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln. 

Torchy  rises  from  the  position  of  office  boy  to  that  of  secretary 
for  the  Corrugated  Iron  Company.    The  story  is  full  of  humor  and 
infectious  American  slang. 
WILT  THOU  TORCHY.      Illus.  by  F.  Snapp  and  A.  W.  Brown. 

Torchy  goes  on  a  treasure  search  expedition  to  the  Florida  West 
Coast,  in  company  with  a  group  of  friends  of  the  Corrugated  Trust 
and  with  his  friend's  aunt,  on  which  trip  Torchy  wins  the  aunt's 
permission  to  place  an  engagement  ring  on  Vee's  finger. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


KATHLEEN  NORRIS'   STORIES 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Crossst  &  Dunlap's  list. 

MOTHER.    Illustrated  by  F.  G.  Yohn. 

This  book  has  a  fairy-story  touch,  counterbalanced  by 
the  sturdy  reality  of  struggle,  sacrifice,  and  resulting  peace 
and  power  of  a  mother's  experiences. 

SATURDAY'S  CHILD. 
Frontispiece  by  F.  Graham  Cootes. 

Out  on  the  Pacific  coast  a  normal  girl,  obscure  and  lovely, 
makes  a  quest  for  happiness.  She  passes  through  three 
stages — poverty,  wealth  and  service — and  works  out  a 
creditable  salvation. 

THE  RICH  MRS.  BURGOYNE. 
Illustrated  by  Lucius  H.  Hitchcock. 

The  story  of  a  sensible  woman  who' keeps  within  her 
means,  refuses  to  be  ewamped  by  social  engagements,  lives 
a  normal  human  life  of  varied  interests,  and  has  her  own 
romance. 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIA'PAGE. 

Frontispiece  by  Allan  Gilbert. 

How  Julia  Page,  reared  in  rather  unpromising  surround- 
ings, lifted  herself  through  sheer  determination  to  a  higher 
plane  of  life. 

THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL. 

frontispiece  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 

Rachael  is  called  upon  to  solve  many  problems,  and  in 
working  out  these,  there  is  shown  the  beauty  and  strength 
of  soul  of  one  of  fiction's  most  appealing  characters. 

Ask    for  Complete   free  list  of  G.   6-   D.   Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


JOHN  FOX,  JR'S. 

STORIES   OF  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dnnlap's  list       1 

THE  TRAIL   OF  THE    LONESOME  PINE./ 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  "lonesome  pine"  from  which  thei 
story  takes  its  name  was  a  tall  tree  that 
stood  in  solitary  splendor  on  a  mountain 
top.  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a  young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 
footprints  of  a  girl.  And  the  girl  proved 
to  be  lovely,  piquant,  and  the  trail  of 
these  girlish  foot-prints  led  the  young 
engineer  a  madder  chase  than  "the  trail 
of  the  lonesome  pine." 

THE  LITTLE  SHEPHERD  OF  KINGDOM  COME 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a  story  of  Kentucky,  in  a  settlement  known  as  "King- 
dom Come."  It  is  a  life  rude,  semi-barbarous;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  flower  of  civilization. 

"  Chad."  the  "little  shepherd"  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came — he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
early  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a  mystery — a  charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains. 

A  KNIGHT  OF  THE    CUMBERLAND.] 
Illustrated   by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  feudsman.  The  knight  is  a  moon- 
shiner's son,  and  the  heroine  a  beautiful  girl  perversely  chris- 
tened "The  Blight."  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners'  fall 
under  the  spell  of  "The  Blight's  "  charms  and  she  learns  what1' 
a  large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the 
mountaineers. 

Included  in  this  volume  is  "  Hell  fer-Sartain"  and  other 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox's  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
narratives. 

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